


The Dancing Thief

by WistfulScribbles



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Noble AU, court intrigue, csbb2018, enchanted forest - no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-07-24 13:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16176404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WistfulScribbles/pseuds/WistfulScribbles
Summary: Pretending to be a noblewoman might be the dumbest thing Emma has ever agreed to do. And she’s not sure if meeting Lord Killian Jones made the whole thing better or worse. (Better. Definitely better.)





	1. Balconies and Books

**Author's Note:**

> After trying to write this story for months, I signed up for the Captain Swan Big Bang in hopes that it would help motivate me to actually finish the story. And now, half a year later, I can't believe I'm sharing it with the world! I know for sure that I couldn't have done it without my wonderful beta and friend Aina (forget-me-not-s), as she encouraged me to sign up in the first place and gave me hope when I thought everything I wrote sucked. I'd also like to thank my incredible artist captxinswans! And of course, the moderators of the csbb for making all of this possible!
> 
> This story was initially inspired by one of my favourite books, The Mistborn series by Brandon Sanderson. Especially the first two chapter are inspired by the books, so I would just like to say, that I do not own anything you might recognize :)
> 
> Now, I really hope you enjoy it! I'll be posting every Wednesday until Christmas :)

Emma no longer questioned whether or not she had lost her mind. Alone in the bustling carriage, she made peace with the fact that she was indeed completely insane. But she had a job to do, and nothing was going to keep her from following through with it.

In the dark outside, people hurried home to their hearths or perhaps to a tavern for a drink and some laughter. Lanterns were lit here and there, and smoke rose from every chimney. Emma had never before thought of Misthaven as charming per say. Then again, she was far from used to seeing her hometown from the inside of a horse-drawn carriage.

Emma stopped fiddling with the soft skirt of her dress. She refused to let her nerves get the better of her, and shifted in her seat on the cushioned bench. The corset of the dress forced her to sit with her back straight, and although she worried for her spleen, it was comforting to know that her dress would keep her from slouching.

The hair was probably the worst part. Snow had pinned it up so delicately, Emma worried it would all unravel at the slightest bump. But it was beautiful - the hair, the dress, all of it. Not even Emma could deny that. She looked like a noblewoman, and the moment she first tried it all on five weeks ago was the moment she started to believe the plan could actually work.

Robin knocked on the carriage from outside on the coachman’s bench. Will played the actual part of coachman, leaving Robin to signal that they were nearing their destination. Emma could already tell from the way the streets were lit up; nothing could brighten the streets of Misthaven quite like the great keeps. Not to mention the palace. But the destination tonight was Keep Jones, and Emma - a street urchin at best, a criminal at worst - was about to attend her first ball.

Now, this wasn’t Emma’s first time pretending to be a noblewoman. Sometimes pilfering a few items from a store called for a fine dress and some noble confidence. Of course, her usual “noble” attire wasn’t half as nice as the one Snow had dressed her in, and Emma wasn’t just planning on stealing a few things. She was planning on fooling the entire court of Misthaven.

Yes, Emma had indeed lost her mind, but at least she wasn’t alone.

* * *

**_Six weeks ago, Ruby’s tavern_ **

“You want me to _what_?” Emma asked, certain she’d misheard Ruby.

“Infiltrate the court,” the tavern owner said as if it were the simplest thing ever.

Emma stared at her friend, waiting for her to admit that it was all a joke. Snow, sitting next to Ruby, spoke instead. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Emma, especially when you and I have only just met, but your help could make a big difference.”

If Snow hadn’t looked so sincere, Emma would’ve called her mad and left the table, uncaring that they were practically strangers. But she had known Ruby for a long time, and although she was prone to wild ideas, Emma trusted her judgement. And if Ruby trusted Snow, well...

“Why me?”

“Because you’d be amazing at this!” Ruby exclaimed.

“Ruby, I’m a thief. I might pull off a few scams here and there, but I’m no actress - and I’m definitely not a spy.”

“You might as well be,” Ruby muttered.

Touching as Ruby’s faith in her was, Emma couldn’t help but feel that it was misplaced.

“How is this gonna help David anyways?” Emma asked Snow, careful to keep her voice down. Although they were in a dim corner of the small tavern - the usual spot where Ruby presented Emma with new jobs - they weren’t entirely secluded, and helping the exiled prince in any way was treason. Helping him take his father’s throne was probably _high_ treason.

When David was exiled seven years ago, Emma was eleven and cared little for the gossip. The story went that King George had discovered his wife’s unfaithfulness upon her death, and started to doubt if David was even his own son. He came to the conclusion that the Queen had borne another man’s child, and David was exiled. But it seemed the prince - and his fiancée Snow - weren’t going to respect King George’s wishes much longer.

“He needs support from the other Houses, and he already knows who might help him, but things can quickly change,” Snow replied. “So far we’re relying on informants and simple hope, but we need someone at court who can hear everything at first hand. Someone we can trust completely.”

“Someone who hates George as much as us ‘petty commoners’,” Ruby supplied, knowing just how to butter Emma up.

Hardly anyone liked King George - if anyone at all. He was a ruthless king who cared only for profit and power. He didn’t spare a thought to all those who suffered under his sky-high taxes and the beatings issued when one didn’t work hard enough. Orphans like Emma lived and died on the streets, and King George merely turned his head the other way.

Oh, how she would love to punch the bastard in the face.

However, the plan didn’t call for any violence from Emma. It called for delicacy and deceit. Snow was putting all of her faith in a thief she had only just met, and Emma could already feel a great weight on her shoulders.

“This is all risky as hell.”

Snow gave her a look of agreement, while Ruby bluntly asked, “So are you in?”

Emma sighed, downing the rest of her ale. “I can agree to discussing the plan, but I can’t promise I’ll go through with it.”

“Thank you, Emma. That’s all we can ask of you.”

“For now,” Ruby added.

* * *

**_Present time, just outside Keep Jones_ **

Emma thought back on her first meeting with Snow as the carriage approached Keep Jones. She’d also met David since then. Now twenty-six with his hair at shoulder-length and a thick shadow of stubble, the prince had returned to his hometown after seven years. He wasn’t at all what Emma had imagined. He was actually... _nice_. Someone she would like to see on the throne, and it only assured her that she’d made the right choice.

For the past five weeks, he and Snow had trained her in proper etiquette, worked on her back-story, perfected her posture and refined her language. Robin had pitched in as well. He used to be a footman at some baron’s estate in the far west. In fact, Snow had been the lady’s maid in the same household, and Will a coachman. But when they’d come across David two years ago, all three of their lives had changed drastically, just like Emma’s had after meeting the lot of them.

Finally, the carriage slowed to a halt. Emma peeked out of the window to see various nobles mingling as they made their way to the entrance of the keep. Bright lights illuminated the grey façade, leaving shadows in odd corners. Emma took a deep breath, knowing that this was her last moment of just being Emma.

Then the carriage door opened.

A footman stood ready to help her out. Emma had never understood the custom - a woman could damn well get out of a carriage on her own. But with the dress flowing around her legs, she found herself grateful for the outstretched hand.

The footman briefly returned Emma’s smile before pointing Will in the right direction. Robin stepped down beside Emma, ready to play her steward for the evening - and for every ball in the future. It was custom to bring a servant to courtly outings, and while Emma mingled with the nobles, so would Robin with the servants. And Will with the coachmen.

“Ready, milady?” Robin asked.

 _Ready as I’ll ever be_ , Emma thought, offering Robin a nod.

Careful not to step on the hem of her gown, Emma followed the carpeted path to the open doors of the keep. She was tempted to look up and see how high the towers actually reached, but didn’t want to look stupid. Then, remembering that the young Lady Emma Swan was new to the city and easily impressed, she looked up anyway.

No building in Misthaven stood taller than the palace, she knew. There was doubtfully a building in all of the Enchanted Forest that could compete with its grandeur. But perhaps Keep Jones could give the palace a run for its money.

At the doors, two servants accepted the forged invitation as Robin introduced her as Lady Emma Swan. The servants bowed and waved them in, unknowing that Lady Emma Swan didn’t actually exist. Neither did her father, a fabricated baron in the far north. The Enchanted Forest was such a large country, no one could possibly keep track of every single lord and lady without studying records. As long as Emma dressed and acted as a lady, no one would be any the wiser.

Still, Emma couldn’t help the knots in her stomach as she noticed several looks in her direction. A group of noblewomen to her right in the foyer were surveying her, as well as a pair of young men. Emma kept her head high, ignoring the urge to run. They weren’t looking at her because they knew her secret, she told herself. They were simply interested in the newest addition to court. They were studying her dress, her make-up, her jewellery... none of them actually saw Emma underneath it all.

The thought comforted her, and she held on to it as she passed through to the ballroom of Keep Jones.

As grand as the building was from the outside, Emma wasn’t prepared for the sight waiting for her inside. Four or five daunting stories high, the ballroom was several times as long as it was wide. Not a single spot wasn’t decorated and not a single stone wasn’t skilfully crafted. Large stained glass windows adorned one long side of the hall, the light cast on them from the outside creating a magnificent display of colours.

It was a feat in itself to keep her jaw from dropping to the floor when she entered.

A string orchestra played on a platform to her left, several couples dancing to the beautiful music. It was a far cry from anything Emma had ever heard or seen in a tavern, that was for sure.

Robin settled her seating arrangements with another servant before leading her towards a small table some paces away from the dance floor.

“I asked for a solitary table,” Robin informed her. “As we’ve planned, you won’t need to do much mingling tonight, just be seen.”

“And dance,” Emma muttered. The dancing was likely the hardest part of pretending to be a noblewoman; David’s feet had certainly suffered through the few lessons he and Snow had given her.

“You could probably avoid that tonight. Just be respectful and you can refuse any young lord who asks. They’ll likely assume you’re flustered by all the impressions of your first ball and will take no offence.”

Part of the tension left Emma’s shoulders. She knew she liked Robin for a reason.

“Of course, you’ll have to dance with them at the next ball,” he continued, earning himself a glare.

While Emma took her seat, Robin went to get her meal from the serving table.

Looking around, the stained glass windows drew her attention in particular. Each showed a different picture - most of the sea or the creatures in its depths. Emma remembered something about the Lord Brennan Jones being Duke of a large stretch of land by the coast, and even commanding the royal navy under King George as well as other seafaring businesses. As such, House Jones was one of the richest and most powerful of all the houses, and their keep certainly showed it.

Robin returned with her meal before long, and Emma did her best to eat as slowly as possible. It wasn’t difficult, as her stomach could hardly contain anything but nervous flutters. She wasn’t quite used to the richness of the food either. Eating slowly was more about postponing the inevitable dance offers though.

Robin stood behind her, up against the wall. He was close enough that should she need him, it wouldn’t take much more than a whisper, but far away enough to give her the proper space. Emma wished he could just sit in a seat beside her and keep her entertained, but she’d surely turn too many heads if she asked her steward to join her.

Eventually, her plate was clean and Emma knew her small bubble wouldn’t remain up for long. The first young man approached her about two minutes after Robin had taken her plate.

“Lady Emma Swan?” he asked, bowing slightly. “I am Lord Grif Ladrian. Would you care to dance?”

“My lord,” Emma smiled politely, adorning the mask of a sweet young girl. “I am honoured, but this is my first ball and everything is just so breathtaking! I’m afraid I would fall over my own feet on the dance floor. Perhaps, next time?”

“Of course, my lady - I’d be honoured,” he said with a courteous nod. “I bid you a pleasant first ball.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded again and withdrew.

The small encounter had Emma’s heart racing, but she couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps she wasn’t absolutely terrible at impersonating a noblewoman after all.

Three more men approached her, but she turned them all down as politely as she had the first. They were all from the smaller houses, as expected. She was hardly going to turn the heads of the Great Houses on her very first night at court.

But things were going well enough, Emma felt, all things considered. Until Robin informed her he had to leave for the stewards’ dinner.

Emma knew he had to leave at some point, and she didn’t want to feel helpless without him, but the thought of being alone with all these nobles wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“You’ve done well so far, Emma. You’ve made no mistakes - at least none that wouldn’t be excusable for a lady new to court.”

“Like what?” Emma narrowed her eyes at him.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Robin answered, a twinkle in his eyes. “Now just continue as you’ve done, and everything will be fine. I’ll come find you when I’m done, and we can call it an evening. Until then, just sip your wine - but don’t request too many refills, okay? You’re at a formal ball, not a rowdy night at Ruby’s.”

Emma wanted to curse him for being such a condescending asshole - even if he was merely joking. “Just go already, Locksley.”

“You have to dismiss me properly first, milady,” he said, the twinkle bright as ever.

Emma rolled her eyes at him. Thank heaven no one was looking their way or listening in on their quite improper interaction. “Fine; you’re dismissed.”

Robin bowed slightly. “Thank you, milady.”

And like that, Emma was on her own.

She sipped at her wine and studied the people mingling and the couples on the dance floor. Her reluctance to dance must have been passed on, because no one else approached her with an offer. She was quite relieved on that matter.

But sitting at her table alone was starting to get to her. She tried eavesdropping on the conversations around her, but they were either of no importance or the table was too far away for her to hear things properly. Restlessness seeped into her bones, and she longed to stand up and walk around - if only she could be sure no one would try to talk to her. She was still perfectly fine with just observing everything.

On the far side wall, Emma noticed something she hadn’t noticed before; above the windows, just underneath the ceiling, a long balcony ran along the wall, separated in several sections by pillars. The lights up there were low, and only a few guests mingled about.

Robin had told her to stay were she was, but the longer she waited for his return, the more her eyes sought out the balcony. She’d have a perfect view of the entire hall from up there. And some peace to study everything without seeming to gawk.

Her legs were on the edge of bouncing with unrest, everything in her itching to get up and move about. She waited one more minute, then stood.

It felt as though every eye was trained on her as she passed through the hall, but she forced herself to keep calm. She’d rather not appear to be running away from her first ball.

The stairwell to the balcony was hidden in the wall near the corner of the room, but Emma found it without difficulty. Climbing the winding stairs in a heavy ballgown was another matter though. The steps were small, and she couldn’t see her own feet. After climbing about half of the stairs, she began to feel quite tired as well. Ballgowns really were impractical as hell.

At least the climb was worth it. Emma instantly felt better with fewer lords and ladies around her. And the few that had found a spot on the balcony paid her no attention.

Crossing the length of the balcony, past pillars and guests, Emma kept half an eye on the floor below. At the far end, she was lucky enough to find an empty section, almost entirely secluded by a pillar. She stopped at the railing to get a proper look at the stunning hall. Invisible to her eyes before, she noticed that the tiles of the floor created a pattern; an elegant curving of grey upon white. Waves, perhaps. It certainly fit with the rest of the keep.

The balcony was dark, lit only by the warm flame of a sconce behind her. To the side, Emma noticed thick navy curtains that - if desired - could conceal the entire balcony. She glanced up at the pillars in the hall, seeing various animals and mythical creatures carved at the top, frozen in motion. Even the railing of the balcony was elaborate in detail, the twisted iron bars resembling seaweed.

Emma had always loved a view from above, and she would happily spend the rest of her evening in this beautiful, secluded spot.

“I never knew women could be such cruel thieves.” Emma startled at the sudden voice next to her, turning to see a young man with dishevelled hair and the hint of a smile. “But perhaps a stunning lass like you could be the cruellest thief of them all.”

Too busy recovering from the shock, Emma didn’t catch the compliment. She only caught the subtle accusation.

“I’m not a thief.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt her cheeks turn red. Perhaps because she was embarrassed by the bluntness of her outburst. Maybe because she was too late in realizing the thinly veiled compliment in his words. Possibly because she was blatantly lying her ass off. But she couldn’t deny that it was also because he was one of the handsomest men she’d seen all night. Even with his eyebrow raised at her in question.

“And yet you’ve stolen my favourite spot on the balcony.”

“Oh. I, uh, I wasn’t aware of that... My lord,” she added.

 _Smooth, Emma. Smooth_.

Something flickered in his eyes, but his smile stayed put.

“I suppose there’s no harm done. However, it _is_ the best spot on the balcony - secluded and with the perfect light for reading.”

Only then did Emma notice the book threatening to fall out of the pocket of his coat. Made of thin black leather, with the edge of it reaching just above his knees, the coat wasn’t what Emma usually associated with noble fashion. It was rich-looking, but paired with snug black trousers, a dark brown vest and a shirt that hadn’t been entirely buttoned up, the young lord’s attire certainly stood out.

The dark ruffled hair didn’t help matters much. It added to his charm though, as did the gleam in his blue eyes. A bit of stubble graced his jaw, and Emma gathered he was a few years older than her - he could be no more than twenty-two though. Perhaps twenty?

“I don’t mind sharing,” Emma said, referring to the spot. She’d be damned if he made her leave. She had just as much a right to enjoy the spot as he did. Or so she assumed, at least.

“Brilliant,” the lord smiled, “neither do I.”

Without further ado, he pulled the book from his pocket and began reading. The open pages rested against the railing, and though he stood a few small paces away from Emma, she could see that he was right; the light _was_ perfect for reading. She couldn’t discern the tightly scribbled lines though, not from afar.

A few seconds passed before Emma realized she was openly staring at him. She looked down at the hall again, trying to forget his presence, but it was all but impossible. The couples dancing below only made her wonder why a handsome lord like him was up on the balcony, _reading_. He hadn’t even introduced himself!

Emma shifted from one foot to the other. The upper-class world was full of rules and decorum; surely there was something odd about the current situation.

The young lord turned a page.

Emma contemplated leaving. The peace she had found in the once secluded spot was more than ruined now. Perhaps she could find another place to observe the hall. But stubbornness kept her rooted where she stood; she didn’t want him to think he had won the spot over her. He could ignore her all he liked, she wasn’t going anywhere.

The current melody ended, and the string orchestra began a slower tune.

Her growing annoyance nagged at her. She had no reason to be annoyed that some stupid nobleman found his book more interesting than her. She was used to being invisible after all. She hadn’t been much older than five when she learned that not being seen had greater advantages than the risks of being beaten if she did something wrong.

But being so blatantly ignored by someone who had been ever-so-charming towards her before, put her teeth on edge. Really, she should just leave him to his own stupid devices.

The competitor in her refused to let it go though.

“Do you always read at balls?”

The young man turned his head, looking up at her. “When I can get away with it.”

“Then what’s the point of even attending?”

“The wine, usually,” he smirked. “Though I always bring something a little stronger, just in case.” With a pat to his chest, he hinted at a hidden flask in an inner pocket of his coat.

“That can’t be reason enough to show up just to hide away on a balcony,” Emma said. She might be toeing the line of proper decorum, but he wasn’t exactly straight-laced either.

“Perhaps you’d enlighten me on what _would_ be reason enough. You’re hiding away up here too, are you not?” he pointed out, his tongue clicking on the last t.

“I just wanted a brief view of the hall,” she lied.

“And you chose the most secluded spot by coincidence, I presume,” he teased, “and have become so enraptured by my presence, you can’t find it in yourself to leave even if you’ve far surpassed a ‘brief’ view of the hall.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “No. I just... this is my first ball and it’s all a bit overwhelming, alright? I don’t even really know how to dance... not that it’s any of your business.”

Emma silently cursed herself. Why on earth did she tell him she couldn’t dance? And then of course, she had to go and try and cover it up in the least proper way ever. Fortunately, the young lord didn’t seem to mind her candour.

“You’ve got a bit more fire than your timid looks let on, don’t you, my lady?”

“Timid?” Emma repeated, an eyebrow raised. “I’m not the one staring at his book when there’s a lady standing next to him and he hasn’t even introduced himself.”

“Now, there you go sounding like my father. Far more beautiful, but just as grumpy.”

Emma glared at him.

“Fine; as you wish, my lady. I am Lord Killian,” he said with an exaggerated bow. “And who do I have the pleasure of sharing this wonderful spot with?”

“Lady Emma Swan,” she replied while mulling over his name. _Lord Killian_. Was it his given name or a family name? She couldn’t remember any Killian from her few lessons - then again, there were far too many noblemen and houses for her to remember all of them. Luckily, no one expected her to, what with her being new to court and all.

“Swan...” he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. Hopefully he wasn’t wondering why he’d never heard that family name before. “It suits you.”

A treacherous blush found its way to her cheeks again. “Thanks.” Before she could say anything else, he gave her a charming smile and returned to his book. Emma was left even more baffled than before.

“You still haven’t told me why you’d rather read a book alone than participate.”

Killian sighed, more for show than out of true exasperation. “Well, you see, I’m not really much of a dancer either.”

“Ah.”

“And even more important, believe it or not, Lady Emma, but once you’ve attended five or six hundred of these balls, they start to come across as a bit repetitive.”

“You’d probably be a better dancer if you practised more.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “You’re not about to let me return to my book are you?”

Emma shrugged, a slight smile curling her lips.

“Well, not that it’s any of _your_ business,” he said, playfully throwing her words back at her, “it’s not that I don’t know _how_ to dance. It’s that I’m rather tired of ladies scowling at me because I’m not as ‘into it’ as they’d like me to be.”

“Maybe they’d scowl less if you were more of a gentleman.”

She didn’t know what she was getting herself tangled up in, but for the first time that evening, Emma found that the racing of her heart could be fun as well as nerve-wracking.

Killian wet his bottom lip with his tongue. “Oh, I’m always a gentleman, Lady Emma. In fact,” he said, swiftly closing his book and holding out his arm, “would you care to share a dance with me this fine evening?”

Emma froze.

In less than ten minutes, Killian had gone from charming to rude to annoying to flirtatious... he was either socially incompetent or incredibly smooth and it irked Emma that she couldn’t decide on which.

Killian took in her surprised look and chuckled as he lowered his arm. “Or perhaps it’s better we spare my toes from being stepped on and you from having to scowl more at me because of my presumably festivity-dampening-energy.”

“Probably for the best, yeah.”

Killian smiled good-naturedly, and Emma found herself pleased to notice that he didn’t open his book straight away again.

“So, Lady Emma, what brings you to Misthaven?” he asked, folding his arms over the railing and looking down at the festivities below. It didn’t occur to Emma until then that the people below could probably see her and Killian easily enough if they looked up and squinted their eyes a bit. Should she be worried about people getting the wrong idea? They weren’t standing _awfully_ close together, but they were unaccompanied. Emma tried to subtlety shift a few inches away from Killian as she contemplated her answer.

“The chance to see more than my tiny corner of the world, I guess.”

“And how are you finding it?”

“It’s nice,” Emma said, briefly meeting his eyes.

“Merely nice?” Killian teased.

“Well, it’s a bit overwhelming; I’ve never seen so many buildings in one place.” Truthfully, Emma had never been outside of Misthaven. She never really had the chance, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go. At least living in the capital of the Enchanted Forest meant there were more pockets to steal from. “It’s beautiful though.”

“I’ve always been partial to the open water myself,” Killian said.

“This hall must be to your liking, then,” Emma nodded at the glass stained windows, each of them depicting the ocean or various sea creatures.

“Aye, it’s quite magnificent. It can’t compete with the real thing though.”

“So, books, liquor and the open water - you’re not secretly a pirate or something, are you?” Emma joked, though a part of her wondered if it could be true. If a street rat could infiltrate the court, surely a pirate could too.

Killian laughed. “No, I’m not. Not yet, at least,” he said, eyebrows waggling.

Emma couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips. “I’m not sure if pirates are that much into reading though.”

“I’m sure they could be; not all treasure is made of gold, after all.”

The smile lingered on her lips as she looked down at the mingling guests. But then her eyes fell on her table, and, more importantly, Robin.

 _Shit_. If Robin found out she’d spent her time alone on the balcony with some young lord, she’d never hear the end of it.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Is everything alright?” he quickly asked, startled by her abruptness.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s only my steward has just returned from his dinner and he’s probably wondering where I am.”

“Oh.” His face fell, but was quickly masked with a smile. Emma was sure she’d imagined the touch of disappointment in his eyes. “I suppose I’ll finally get to return to my book then.”

“I’m sure it was awful to be kept from it for so long.”

“Oh, it most certainly was,” he agreed, eyes twinkling. “But it was a pleasure to share this spot with you, Lady Emma.”

Emma returned his playful bow with her own playful curtsy. “Likewise, Lord Killian.”

They shared one last look, and then his book was open again before Emma had even taken her first steps towards the stairwell.

She walked the length of the balcony, refusing to look back to see if he’d looked up from his book to see her retreat. (Which he _definitely_ didn’t do, of course not.)

Robin met her halfway between the stairwell and her table.

“I see you found your courage to walk about,” he greeted, speaking quietly as to not be overheard.

“I figured it couldn’t do any harm.”

“Would you like to walk about a bit more then? I thought we’d head back home around now, but if you’d rather stay a bit longer...?”

“I think I’ve had my fair share of ball-entertainment for tonight,” Emma answered, and she and Robin began to make their way towards the main entrance again.

“So...” Robin began, “who was that fellow I saw you with on the balcony?”

_Damn._

But Emma knew she’d have to mention Killian at some point. She might as well just get it over with. “A Lord Killian.”

“Killian Jones?”

Emma was just about to shrug when she realized what Robin had said. “Jones? As in _House_ Jones?”

Thankfully, she kept her voice down despite the surprise. Robin seemed as surprised as her though.

“Well, that’s the only Killian I know of. I’ve heard he’s quite against the frivolity of balls though.”

“Sounds like him,” Emma said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Had she really just spent her evening with a member of one of the most powerful Houses in all of the Enchanted Forest? “But he’s not like... an important member of the family, is he?”

“He’s the only living son of Lord Brennan Jones.”

 _The only living son..._ Fantastic. Emma had called the heir apparent to House Jones a pirate.

“Perhaps we should wait until we’re at home before we discuss things further,” Robin said as they neared the foyer. Emma gave a vague nod in agreement, her mind already going over the conversation she’d shared with Killian.

Why hadn’t he introduced himself with his full title? Before she could stop herself, she looked over her shoulder, squinting at the balcony.

Killian held his book, closed, in one hand - and she could have sworn he was looking down in her direction.

* * *

“There you are!” Snow greeted Emma and Robin as they entered the townhouse. The dark-haired woman leapt to wrap Emma in a tight hug which she awkwardly reciprocated. After knowing each other for little more than a month, Snow already liked to think of herself as something of an older sister, being seven years older than Emma.

“So,” Snow started, pulling away, “how was your first ball?”

“Intense,” Emma answered, honestly. “But it wasn’t too difficult, I guess.”

Snow’s smile grew impossibly brighter. “I told you, you could do this!”

“Right now, I could really do with getting out of this dress though.”

“Of course! We’ll wait in the drawing room for a quick chat. Would you like some cocoa?”

Emma nodded. After her first taste of the chocolatey goodness, she had developed quite the affinity for the drink.

Emma’s bedroom wasn’t large, but it had four walls, a roof and it was _hers._ That alone was more than enough.

Of course, the room wasn’t _actually_ hers, neither was the townhouse. Snow’s godmother Johanna owned a few houses and rooms in Misthaven, and had offered one of the better residences to Snow and David without a moment’s hesitation. Without Johanna, Emma wasn’t sure the operation had any chance of succeeding. If anyone ever wanted to call on Lady Emma, send her a letter or even shadow her after a ball, the townhouse was exactly the kind of place they would expect to find.

After swapping the ball gown for a loose shirt and a pair of breeches, her hair now in a messy braid, Emma joined the rest of the gang in the drawing room.

“So, did anything interesting happen?” Snow asked when they’d all sat down.

Robin looked at Emma. Emma looked at the cup of cocoa in her hand.

“A few lords asked me to dance,” she began. “I had to turn them down ‘cause I was too nervous, but they were all nice about it.”

Snow asked for the names and jotted down Emma’s answers in a small book.

“I also met Lord Killian Jones.”

“Killian Jones?” David repeated, incredulous.

Emma nodded. “I kind of took his spot on a balcony and we ended up talking-”

“Did he ask you to dance?” David interrupted.

“Yeah, but I don’t think he meant it.” Emma shifted in her seat, her legs curled underneath herself on the armchair.

“I’m sorry, Emma, but this isn’t good,” David said, never losing the kind spark in his eyes despite the gravity of his tone. “Lord Brennan Jones has always been close with George, and Killian was always a bit of a troublemaker as a kid. I’ve heard he’s only gotten worse since - and he shouldn’t be taking any lingering interest in a noblewoman far below his station.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Snow said.

“You’re making it sound like the world’s ending,” Will chipped in.

“It _is_ bad. If Jones decides to use Emma as his next opportunity to spite his father, the whole plan might backfire! And I can’t have anything happen to you, Emma, not on my behalf-”

“Hey, no one forced me to do this,” Emma interrupted. “I know this is risky - hell, I’ve had more than a few doubts about it all - but whatever happens to me is my fault alone. You don’t have to worry about me.”

David looked as if she were asking for something perfectly impossible. “Just try to stay away from Jones, okay?”

“Sure.” It shouldn’t be a problem. Killian had probably already forgotten all about her anyway.

Still, Emma had the feeling she wasn’t likely to forget Lord Killian Jones too easily.


	2. A pair of bruised feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely response to the first chapter! And if you haven't yet, then go check out the [artwork](https://captxinswans.tumblr.com/post/178700568822/summary-pretending-to-be-a-noblewoman-might-be) captxinswans made for the first chapter!
> 
> Just a reminder, that this is a work of fiction, and my first time writing anything (somewhat) political and involving nobility, so please excuse any mistakes or simplicities! The noble system is mainly based on the Mistborn series, but it might also remind you a bit of Game of Thrones :)

David tried his best not to wince. She had likely stepped on his toes more than a hundred times now, but Emma refused to feel sorry for him. She was hardly enjoying herself either.

If Ruby had told her five weeks ago that she’d end up learning how to dance from an exiled prince and his fiancée, Emma would’ve laughed. Then again, David and Snow were hardly what you’d expect a prince and almost-princess to be. Emma was surprised at how quickly she’d become friends with the couple, through dance lessons and all.

“Try to relax, Emma,” Snow said, standing by the piano as Robin played a simple melody. They had pushed the furniture to the sides of the drawing room, creating a small dance floor. “Dancing is about listening to the music and following your partner. If you overthink it, you end up losing the rhythm.”

“It’s like fighting, really,” David supplied. “If you’re locked in your head, you’ll end up _losing_ your head.”

“This is _nothing_ like fighting,” Emma muttered. She’d been in her fair share of brawls - and she was quite deft with a dagger too. Comparing dancing to fighting was one of the dumbest things she’d ever heard.

David merely laughed. “I think my broken toes would beg to differ.”

They danced on, David doing his best to lead Emma in each step.

“Try not to look at your feet so much,” Snow said. Emma looked up to glare at her and promptly stepped on David’s toes. A strangled yelp sounded from his throat.

She sent him an apologetic look and then her eyes were back on her feet. How was she ever going to follow David’s steps if she couldn’t see what she was doing?

After a few more mishaps, Snow stepped in to show Emma the steps once again. And so they continued for most of the day, until they all agreed they’d had enough.

Emma was starting to get the hang of it though.

Snow smiled humorously. “Just wait until you have to do it in a ballgown.”

* * *

For the next three days, Emma practised various dances - with ballgowns and all. As much as she hated it, she was determined to not make a fool of herself at the next ball. Plus, the dancing kept her mind off of other things, like a certain Lord Jones _._

On the fourth evening following her first ball, Emma slipped into yet another uncomfortable dress. This time, Snow had chosen a light pink ballgown. Emma had hoped for a dress more womanly, but she was meant to convey guileless innocence after all. At least it fit the colours of spring.

The evening’s ball was hosted by House Herman, a richer family than most of the small houses. There were eleven Great Houses in all, and countless smaller houses. Not all attended court, and some nobles never left Misthaven, despite owning land elsewhere.

Keep Herman was rather more modest than Keep Jones had been, but still much richer than anything Emma had ever been used to. The ballroom was smaller, but it only made it seem like there were more guests shuffling about.

Instead of waltzes, the guests enjoyed a hearty country dance (yes, Emma knew the names of the different dances now). The men and women stood in two lines facing each other, dancing this way and that in practised harmony. Emma, once again at a solitary table, enjoyed the show while she ate, all the while knowing that sooner or later, _she’d_ be on the dance floor.

It didn’t take long for a lord to approach her table once she finished her meal. Emma recognized him from Keep Jones - the young Lord Grif.

“Lady Emma, I hope you won’t mind my asking for a dance once again?” Lord Grif said, sounding a bit unsure of himself. Behind her, Emma could practically feel Robin smirking.

“Not at all, Lord Grif; I would love to dance,” Emma said, and dismissed Robin for the stewards’ dinner before letting Lord Grif lead her to the dancefloor.

As they stood at the edge of the floor, the few weeks of practice suddenly didn’t seem like enough.

The music stopped, allowing couples to leave or enter the floor, and Lord Grif led her forward. To Emma’s dismay, the next dance was to be a waltz, not a country dance - she’d rather liked the simplicity and joy of the country dance.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, as he placed his on her waist. Thankfully, his grip was very light and respectful. But as she met his eyes, Emma noticed, surprisingly, apprehension.

The music began, as did the dancing. Lord Grif’s face took on a look of concentration, his eyes constantly flickering to their feet. Emma did everything she could to keep her own gaze upwards, Snow’s words ringing in her ears. When she felt his palm sweating in her hand, she almost broke into a smile. This boy was as nervous as she was!

He was young, perhaps even a bit younger than her, actually. He probably wasn’t very experienced with balls - dancing certainly seemed a challenge for him. He focused so much on the steps that his motions became rigid.

It made sense though. The experienced ball-goers wouldn’t ask her to dance, not when she was so new and low of rank. She was beneath their notice. Which left her with young lords that had as much trouble with dancing as she did.

“Don’t focus so much on the steps,” Emma said, all but startling Grif with her voice. “My instructor says that it will flow more naturally if you don’t try too hard.”

He blushed.

Good lord, how young was this boy?

“Don’t worry,” Emma smiled, “I all but yelled at her when she said it. Dancing is harder than it looks, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is, my lady. I’m sorry, I’m so...”

“At least you’re not stepping on my toes,” Emma helped, taking pity on him (and on David’s poor feet).

Awkward as it was, Emma didn’t find the experience entirely unpleasant. She was less frustrated than she’d been with David and Snow (and Robin and Will when they stepped in to help), but on the other hand, it had also been more fun, dancing in the drawing room with her friends.

(Honestly, the oddest part of all of this was that she actually _had_ friends. A team.)

When the music ended, Lord Grif bowed and thanked her for the dance. She thanked him in kind, but when he offered to lead her back to her table, she declined - she’d rather head over to the drinks table and fetch herself a glass of wine.

Perhaps some part of her knew that she’d find him there, but Emma denied that as much as she denied the flutters in her stomach when a familiar voice spoke beside her.

“I see you’ve found your courage to brave the dance floor.”

Emma turned to see Lord Killian, his hair as dishevelled as it had been a few days ago, eyes even bluer than she’d remembered.

“And I see you haven’t found the decency to leave your books at home,” Emma nodded at the book in his hand. Another was tucked into the pocket of his coat, threatening to rip the seams.

“Now, where would the fun be in that?”

Emma met his cheeky grin with a wry smile. “Something tells me you’d be better off in a book club than at a ball, Lord Killian.”

“Aye, there’s probably some truth to that,” he said, grabbing a glass of wine from the serving table. “And seeing as you’re offering me advice, might I offer you some of my own...” He stepped closer, his eyes locking on hers. “When it comes to dancing, there’s only one rule; pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

With a gleam in his eyes, he took a sip of his wine and left her without another word.

What the hell did he mean by that? _Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing..._ Emma followed Killian with her eyes as he walked away - probably with a smug grin plastered on his face. For some reason, Lord Jones was fond of flustering her.

When Emma returned to her table, she was glad Robin wasn’t there to see the blush on her cheeks.

* * *

It didn’t take long for another lord to ask her to dance. Emma accepted, and this time she got to try out the festive country dance.

Whenever the next figure was called, Emma took a few seconds to recall which steps accompanied said figure. At one point, she even had to admit she didn’t know the steps at all. Fortunately, her partner was rather inexperienced as well, and forgave all of her mistakes.

At the back of her mind, a lingering thought kept pestering her, wondering what it might be like to dance with Lord Killian instead. If she wasn’t careful, her thoughts would only spiral from there. When she almost stepped on her partner’s feet, lost in thought, she blushed and vowed to shake all thoughts of Killian Jones from her head. At least for as long as the dance lasted.

Some of the figures required them to dance with the pair next to them, a sweet couple with matching smiles. The woman laughed kindly at Emma’s inexperience, guiding her as best as she could. When the dance ended and they departed from the floor, the woman introduced herself as Lady Aurora Rose.

“Lord Phillip Samson,” Lady Aurora’s partner introduced himself. Emma knew House Rose and House Samson were two of the Great Houses, though not near as powerful as House Jones.

Emma smiled, introducing herself and thanking them for not having her thrown off the dance floor despite her many mistakes.

“Oh, I remember my own first dances at court - I’m sure I resembled a foal taking its very first steps,” Lady Aurora laughed.

“You did no such thing, my lady,” Lord Phillip said, looking at Aurora with sickeningly doting eyes. He turned to Emma, suddenly serious. “I, on the other hand, was like a frightened cat.”

They all laughed, and as Aurora and Phillip began walking in a certain direction, Emma wasn’t sure if she should follow or politely excuse herself as her dance partner had a few minutes before.

Aurora made the decision for her, asking Emma if she would like to join them at their table. Between going back to her table all alone, and doing what she came here to do (mingle with the nobles), the choice wasn’t hard to make.

Aurora introduced Emma to her best friend Lady Ella Boyd, and her own cousin Lady Grace Rose. Only sixteen years old, Grace was about as new to court as Emma was.

While Aurora and Emma sat down, Phillip turned to Grace with a slight bow. “Would you honour me with a dance, Lady Grace?” he asked with a brotherly affection.

Aurora’s face lit up in a smile, her eyes glazing with a very _non_ -brotherly affection as she looked at Phillip. Had they been in a tavern instead of a ball, Emma guessed Aurora and Phillip would have disappeared to find a private room before too long.

Grace, however, looked rather anxious at the thought of dancing. Emma knew the feeling all too well. But with red-tipped ears, Grace accepted Phillip’s offer and he led her towards the dancefloor.

Aurora’s gaze followed them, her smile never leaving her face. It was quite sweet of Phillip to offer to dance with the young girl as an attempt to ease her into court - it certainly worked, in terms of charming Aurora.

Ella leaned over towards Emma. “I know ladies aren’t supposed to gamble, but my bet is on Aurora and Phillip being married before the year is out.”

“Oh hush,” Aurora said, but the smile still stayed on her lips. “You’re one to talk anyways.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Thomas Herman,” Aurora answered pointedly, mischief in her eyes as she looked at her best friend.

Ella’s fair cheeks turned pink. “He hasn’t even said hello to me this evening.”

“Because he’s shy! And busy - his parents are hosting the ball after all.”

Ella seemed to think on it as Aurora turned to Emma.

“What of you, Lady Emma? Has any lord caught your eye yet?”

Emma did _not_ think of Killian. She did not at all think of blue eyes and books and a rakish smile.

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” she answered, trying to fool herself as well as Aurora and Ella.

“We must amend that as soon as possible,” Aurora said with a spark that somehow reminded Emma of Snow.

When Aurora said as soon as possible, she really meant it. Instantly, she was pointing out several lords - young and older - trying to see if any would take Emma’s fancy. None did, but it was the perfect opportunity for Emma to learn about the different noblemen. Not to mention, Aurora’s and Ella’s characters were reflected in the way they spoke about other nobles.

Phillip and Grace returned before too long. Grace sat down as soon as they reached the table, but Phillip stayed on his feet.

“It’s been a lovely evening so far, but I’m afraid I must excuse myself,” he said, focusing mostly on Aurora as he spoke.

“Off for the gentlemen’s party, are you?” Aurora teased.

“Indeed, my lady. But perhaps I’ll return for another dance when we’re done?” Despite clearly having charmed Aurora, Phillip sounded almost shy. As if he doubted Aurora wouldn’t want to dance with him in a heartbeat.

“As long as I don’t have to wait too long - in that case, I might have to find some other lord to dance with,” Aurora said with a coy smile.

“I’ll fight tooth and nail to return as soon as possible, my lady.” With one last shared gaze, he turned to the rest of the three ladies at the table, bidding them a good evening.

Ella sent Aurora pointed looks as soon as Phillip left their table, but Aurora averted her eyes. Emma spotted the fresh tint of red on her cheeks though.

“What is the gentlemen’s party?” she asked, unable to rein in her curiosity.

“Oh, it’s nothing grand,” Aurora answered. “Merely Lord Phillip and some of his friends gathering every once a while during balls. They’re always frightfully secretive about it.”

“I’m almost certain they play cards while smoking cigars and drinking whiskey - they’re just too scared to let us women join,” Ella said.

“I’m sure Lord Thomas wouldn’t mind letting you join,” Aurora teased her friend.

When Ella didn’t respond, Emma took the chance to ask who was in this group of friends - it never hurt to know which nobles were closer knit than others.

“Well, Lord Phillip and Lord Thomas, and then there’s Lord Eric Triton and Lord Killian Jones,” Aurora answered.

Emma hoped her surprise at the last name didn’t show. The last thing she needed was for anyone to think she had a crush on Killian. Because she didn’t. He simply intrigued her, that was all.

She filed away all the names. All four lords were from powerful houses – three of them from Great Houses - and Emma guessed that Killian wasn’t the only heir among them. Maybe the young lords were forming an alliance. Although, as far as Emma remembered, House Jones and Triton were common rivals, both governing seafaring businesses.

“It seems Lady Regina decided to grace us with her presence after all,” Ella suddenly changed the subject. Emma, Aurora and Grace followed her line of sight to a group of nobles standing near the dancefloor. Emma didn’t need anyone to specify which of them was Lady Regina. The eldest daughter of House Mills was said to be something of a queen in everything but title, and Emma gathered she was the dark-haired woman in the very centre of the group.

“Whatever you do, Lady Emma, I’d advise you stay away from the lords with any interest in Lady Regina Mills,” Ella said.

“Are they not very pleasant?” Emma asked. With a lower voice she added, “Or is _she_ not very pleasant?”

“A healthy mixture, I’d say,” Ella answered.

“Lady Regina has a habit of attracting the more.. _ostentatious_ nobles,” Aurora supplied. “She’s not so awful herself - or at least, she didn’t use to be. I took riding lessons with her when we younger, and she was actually quite nice. But then her mother had her moved to private lessons, and well, if there’s anyone you should keep your distance from, it’s Lady Cora Mills.”

David had already told Emma a great deal about House Mills - Aurora and Ella weren’t the first to warn her not to mess with that particular house.

“They’re ambitious I take it,” Emma said. Both Aurora and Ella laughed - the ladylike version of a scoff, Emma thought.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Ella said. “From what I’ve heard, Lady Mills tried to arrange a marriage for Lady Regina with the King himself!”

“My father talked about that,” Grace piped up. So far, she’d mostly been quiet.

“Yes, it was after Queen Meredith’s death, almost five years ago,” Aurora said. “King George refused though. You can imagine why House Mills would rather keep that rumour under lock and key.”

Emma could indeed imagine why House Mills wouldn’t want the rumour spread around - she couldn’t wait to tell David and Snow about it. And speaking of the King gave Emma the perfect opportunity to see what Aurora and Ella thought of him.

“Do you often see the King at court?” she asked, feigning innocent curiosity.

“Not much,” Aurora answered. “My mother says he started attending balls less and less after the death of Queen Ruth seven years ago, and after the death of Queen Meredith, he seemed to lose interest in attending at all. One can hardly blame him though - he has an entire kingdom to take care of, not to mention overseeing the upbringing of young Prince James. But a few times every year he hosts the most splendid balls at the palace - I look forward to them every time!”

Emma had never heard anyone speak of the king with sympathy before - she’d heard his name cursed in taverns, heard people rage about him for his unjust ruling.

Perhaps Aurora didn’t know how poor a job the King was doing of “taking care” of the country. Perhaps she didn’t know that people starved to death without King George batting an eyelash. Or that workers were beaten if they made a single mistake or didn’t work “hard enough”. If your life was nothing but balls and pretty things, it could be easy to forget what was really going on behind the polished surface.

Emma shifted in her seat. She had almost started to feel comfortable in the company of noblewomen, but now she felt ashamed of herself. These women didn’t know what it felt like to go to bed hungry. They didn’t know how it felt to be so helpless and desperate that you’d do anything for a bit of coin.

But perhaps with a little help, they’d be able to understand it.

Emma sat with the ladies throughout the evening as they discussed fashion, crushes, blossoming romances at court, and the newest chapter of some story posted in the high society’s paper. She was hardly used to such topics, and though they sometimes seemed superficial, Emma had always been a good judge of character; these ladies weren’t evil. They might be ignorant, but they weren’t without empathy. They were human. And Emma could easily see them joining David’s cause.

Perhaps their plan wasn’t so hopeless after all.

* * *

Snow was excited to hear all about the dancing. David was glad to hear Emma’s thoughts about House Rose and House Boyd. All were interested in knowing more about this alliance - or friendship - formed between the sons of four powerful Houses. Especially since Eric Triton’s father and Lord Brennan Jones were well-known rivals.

(And Emma chose to ignore the way Robin and Will smirked when she said Killian’s name at the lounge table. She just mentioned his name in passing, it wasn’t like she was declaring her undying love for him!)

No sooner than a day and a half passed before Emma was dressing up for her third ball.

Snow helped tighten the dreaded corset of a beige-coloured dress. So far, it was the most elegant dress she had found for Emma; it had a slimmer fit, and a pattern of white lace adorned the fabric. When she twirled, the skirts flowed graciously, and Emma almost couldn’t wait to show it off on the dancefloor...

_Here you are, twirling in front of mirrors and looking forward to dancing,_ Emma shook her head at herself. She could hardly see the young street rat anymore, buried underneath pretty fabrics and make-up. She was still there though; Emma doubted the dirt underneath her nails would ever disappear, no matter how much she painted them.

“Should I sit with Aurora and Ella again tonight?” Emma asked Snow.

“Only if they ask you to. But you’ve danced with several lords, and any accepted invitation to dance is also an excuse to seek them out later and mingle in their groups. And with time, some of them might even ask you to accompany them to a ball, and then you’ll get to sit with them at their table.”

Emma thought of sitting with one of the lords she’d danced with for an entire evening... hopefully, someone more interesting would ask her to dance soon.

(She was absolutely not thinking about sitting at a table with Killian. Absolutely not.)

Ready for yet another ball, Emma, Robin and Will made their way to the horse carriage. Soon enough, they were rolling down the street of Keep Mills. The cobblestones shimmered with the glowing lights of the keep, and Emma wondered if they’d had every cobblestone polished. She wouldn’t put it past House Mills to do so.

The grandeur only increased when Emma stepped into the ballroom. Where Keep Jones had awed Emma with its magnificent stained glass windows, Keep Mills boasted grand chandeliers and marble statues. The walls were painted deep red, and the bars of the arched windows resembled twisting tree branches.

Tables clothed in pristine white were hidden away in shadowed alcoves, and the string orchestra was the biggest she’d seen yet. There was no doubt though, that this wasn’t a ball for country dances or roaring laughter.

A servant led Robin and Emma to a smaller alcove at the rim of the room. She sat by her solitary table, and waited as Robin fetched her meal. While studying the ballroom, trying to discern familiar faces, Emma didn’t notice someone approach her table.

A muted thump alerted her to their presence as they dropped a stack of books on her table. Emma startled, turning as Killian Jones pulled over a chair, then sat down with a book already in his hands. He leaned back in the chair, angling towards a candelabrum beside her table, and began reading, just like that. He didn’t even look at her in greeting.

Emma decided she might as well take the chance to study him once more. He still didn’t look as if he had bothered to brush his hair, and again, he’d left a few too many buttons on his shirt undone, giving a nice peek of dark hair. His vest fit well though - _very_ well.

Killian flipped through his book. Emma waited for him to acknowledge her, but he continued to read. Finally, she raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember giving you permission to sit at my table, Lord Jones.”

“Don’t mind me,” Killian said, eyes still on his book. “You’ve a big table - there’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“But not all these books,” Emma pointed out. “Where am I going to put my meal?”

“There’s a bit of space to your right,” Killian said offhandedly.

Emma eyed some of the books crowding the so-called “space” to her right. They had titles such as _The Long Journey_ and _Treasures of the Skies._

Adventure stories. Some of them were probably even pirate stories. _Of course_.

Robin arrived with her meal and she damn-well hoped no one else saw his raised eyebrow and smug little grin. She sent him her best death glare in return, thankful for once that Killian didn’t look up from his book. His other books, strewn across the table, were still a problem though. Emma shoved them aside, making room for Robin to set down her plate. He gathered some of the books afterwards, placing them on the floor before going to stand by the wall. Killian didn’t look up even once.

Emma began to cut the buttered vegetables of her lady-sized meal. Killian continued to read.

“What did you do at these parties before you had me to pester?” Emma finally asked, breaking the silence.

“I wouldn’t say I’m pestering you, Lady Swan - I’m merely sitting here, reading quietly to myself. Which is exactly what I did before you joined _these parties,_ ” Killian said, looking up from his book to send her a teasing smile.

“But why read at _my_ table? Surely, you could get your own - you’re the Jones heir after all. Not that you bothered to mention that when we first met.”

“Aye, I suppose I forgot that pesky detail,” Killian said. ““As for the whereabouts of my reading, well, _you_ were the one who told me to find a book club, weren’t you? It would hardly count as much of a book club if I sat at a table all by myself.”

“It doesn’t count as a book club either if only one person is actually participating.”

“And who’s fault is that, Emma? I’m not the one currently not reading.”

Emma didn’t fail to notice that he neglected calling her by her formal title. The nobility wasn’t expected to always refer to each other by their titles, especially not if they were friends - she and Killian were hardly friends though.

“I thought I was at a ball, not a book club.”

“Well, you could always try dancing while reading. Although I’ve tried that before, and I must say, it’s never seemed popular with my partners.”

Emma was tempted to roll her eyes and laugh at him. One more glass of wine, and she probably would’ve flat-out called him an idiot. Instead, she focused on her meal and tried to ignore Robin’s knowing smirk (really, he smirked far too much for a steward).

Ladies’ portions weren’t very large amongst the nobility, much to Emma’s dismay. She thought they’d be eating mountains of food. Then again, looking around at the women in the room and at their general idea of beauty, there was probably a reason the portions were as small as they were. The men though, _they_ probably got to eat mountains of food. They could certainly afford it.

Killian seemed to live off books and wine though. Emma opened her mouth to ask whether or not he ever ate anything, but stopped herself for two very different reasons.

One, she wasn’t sure how “lady-like” such a question was. Usually, she wouldn’t care about that, but she’d rather not stick out like a sore thumb. At least not too much.

Two, she was tired of always being the one to initiate any conversation while he got to play coy, reading his damned books. It was time to find out how _he_ fancied being ignored.

Emma purposefully kept her eyes on her plate or the dancing couples on the floor. She forced herself not to wolf down the food, instead taking her time with cutting each bite and chewing it carefully.

After a few minutes of silence, Killian looked up from his book. She felt his eyes on her, just for a second, and then he went back to reading.

Emma fought to hide her smile. Clearly, the good Lord Jones didn’t enjoy the silent treatment.

He looked up again a minute later. This time, he kept looking at her as if willing her to speak.

Emma sipped at her wine instead.

With a sigh, Killian set his book on the table, pages still open. “You’re from the north, right?”

“Yes; the forestlands.”

“And what’s it like, living amongst the woods?”

“Quiet,” Emma answered. “We certainly don’t have many balls.”

“I should fit right in then.”

Emma gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “It gets awfully boring at times.”

“And what do you do to escape boredom?”

“I go for walks,” Emma shrugged, desperately trying to come up with a ladylike hobby that wasn’t too much of a lie. She’d say riding, but she knew absolutely nothing about horses. If she knew more about embroidery, she might say that, but as it was... “and I enjoy painting.”

“I should love to see some of your work.”

“I hardly ever let anyone see them,” Emma said, thinking of the pictures she’d drawn in the sand as a kid. They were about as close to painting as she’d ever come.

“Well, if they’re even half as lovely as you, Lady Emma, I’m sure they’re absolute masterpieces.”

And like that, he picked up that damned book again.

Emma was torn between staying frozen and reaching over to shove the book out of his hands so she could give him a piece of her mind. Opting for a more civil behaviour, she grabbed her glass and downed a good mouthful of wine.

Who the hell did he think he was?

_A young lord who loves to make trouble and piss everyone off_ , David’s words echoed - at least an abridged version of them.

She refused to look at him and see his smug look. She was done eating though, and too much wine probably wasn’t a good idea. Wasn’t someone supposed to ask her to dance by now anyway?

Emma looked around, catching a small group of young lords looking at her. But before she could blink, they all turned away. For a moment, Emma let her worst doubts take over her. Had she unknowingly insulted someone at the last ball? Had they discovered her secret?

Emma’s doubts were quelled by the books strewn across her table. A supposed _solitary_ table. But the owner of said books obviously put a dent in the definition of _solitary_. The noblemen probably thought she was _with_ Killian - and they wouldn’t dare ask her to dance if they believed her partner to be one of the highest ranked noblemen at court!

David’s warning about staying away from Killian had turned into Killian dispelling all the other noblemen from Emma. That simply wouldn’t do.

Emma caught the eye of a nobleman - Lord Fendrick, she remembered - and smiled at him before he, too, turned away. She had danced with him at Keep Herman. Surely he wouldn’t be afraid to ask her to dance again?

A moment later, Lord Fendrick neared the small alcove in which Emma sat.

“Lady Emma. It’s wonderful to see you again - would you care for a dance?”

Emma shot a glance at Killian, but he didn’t look up from his book.

“I would love to, Lord Fendrick,” she said, taking his hand and rising.

The dance itself was pleasant enough. Lord Fendrick wasn’t overly skilled, but he didn’t step on her toes or sweat through the fabric of her gloves. He _was_ nervous though. Emma didn’t know why - he wasn’t nervous during their last dance.

“Do you, uh, know Lord Killian well, Lady Emma?”

_Ah. That’s why_.

“Not really. He’s offered to keep me company out of kindness, but really, I just think he’s using me as an excuse not to participate, so he can read his books instead,” Emma said, reassuring Fendrick with a smile.

“That does sound like him,” he said, and already he seemed less tense.

They drifted off into other topics as the dance progressed, and Emma tried to gauge his opinion of the King and the other noblemen through subtle questions. It was an odd thought that dancing could be so political. Even odder that Emma found herself enjoying it.

The dance ended and Fendrick led Emma back to her alcove before thanking her for the dance and bidding her a good evening.

Killian sat scribbling in a notebook, his books strewn across her table once again. The alcove was lit by several more candelabras than when she left - apparently filched from the other tables.

_Well,_ Emma thought, _at least we’ve got thieving in common_.

Robin was nowhere to be seen however. As if reading her mind, Killian spoke without looking up. “I sent your steward off to dinner. No need for him to go hungry while you twirled around on the floor.”

Emma sat as Killian pulled an open book closer to him on the table, pushing another away, all the while scribbling something in his notebook. “So how was the aforementioned twirling anyway?”

“It was actually kind of fun,” Emma replied.

“I thought you said you weren’t very good at it.”

Emma raised an eyebrow - had he been looking at her dance? Or was it unheard of liking something one wasn’t good at?

“I wasn’t”, Emma said. “I practised. This may come as a surprise to you, Lord Killian, but sitting in the back of a room reading books doesn’t help you become a better dancer.”

“Is that a proposition?” Killian asked, shooting a glance at her. “It’s quite unladylike to ask a man to dance, you know.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your books.”

Emma sipped at her wine, and a moment later, one of Lord Fendrick’s friends approached. Glad to escape Lord Killian and this flirting - which was _not_ flirting - Emma accepted the young lord’s hand. As she walked to the dance floor, she lost her inner battle and shot one last glance towards Killian. He was peeking at her over a book. Caught in the act, he immediately turned back to his research with an overtly indifferent air.

* * *

 

Emma plopped down in her chair, surprised at her level of exhaustion. Who knew dancing could be so tiring? She resisted the urge to pull off her shoes and massage her feet.

Killian had left the table, but most of his books were still strewn about. Emma pulled one of them towards her, an idea coming to mind. If she pretended to be reading, perhaps the noblemen wouldn’t approach her, and she could give her poor feet a break.

Emma scoured the books for the least dull title and the largest letters. She’d learned how to read when she was little, but only so she could intercept letters or in other ways gain money. She’d never read a full book and certainly not one so large. It would be a challenge, but she’d rather read than expose her sore feet to more dancing.

She smiled at the title _A Pirate’s Untold Tale_ \- he really did have a book about pirates. Expecting some easily read adventure-story, Emma was left confused at the tightly scribbled lines though. There were no pirates, but there were unfamiliar, fancy words and sentences half a page long. As far as Emma could tell, the subject was politics. But why would a book called _A Pirate’s Untold Tale_ be about politics?

Emma studied the binding. Perhaps it had been meddled with; maybe it wasn’t the correct binding at all, but a disguise. But why on earth would Killian secretly be studying politics at a ball?

To any onlookers, it seemed that Emma was deeply immersed in the book. At least it kept them away from her table, just like she’d hoped.

One man didn’t take the hint though.

“Lady Emma Swan?”

Emma looked up, surprised but somewhat relieved to see that the newcomer was a steward, not a nobleman.

“Yes,” Emma said hesitantly.

“My mistress, Lady Regina Mills, requires your presence at her table.”

_Requires?_ Emma thought. That didn’t sound good. Nothing about Regina wanting to talk to Emma could be good. She had little desire to meet the woman, but refusing would probably be worse.

Swallowing her fears, Emma laid the book on the table.

“Alright.”


	3. A gentlewoman doesn't fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to see what Regina wants from Emma! 
> 
> We'll get a little bit of Killian's POV towards the end of the chapter, and I hope you enjoy it! There's also some violence in this chapter, but nothing overly graphic.
> 
> Oh, and check out [captxinswans](http://captxinswans.tumblr.com/)' artwork for chapter 2 [here](https://captxinswans.tumblr.com/post/178921411837/summary-pretending-to-be-a-noblewoman-might-be%20/)! Last, shout-out to my amazing beta, [forget-me-not-s](http://forget-me-not-s.tumblr.com/)!

“Lady Emma Swan, milady,” the steward presented Emma.

Lady Regina lifted her gaze, scrutinizing Emma as if she were the next meal. The other ladies at the table did much the same.

“Take a seat, Lady Emma.”

Emma did as told – although _ordered_ would be a better term - and sat across from Regina. With so many pairs of eyes upon her, it was all she could do not to sink into her chair.

“Thank you for inviting me to sit with you, Lady Regina.”

“Well, someone had to,” the noblewoman replied. “You looked so lonely over there in your corner; then again it must be hard being so far away from home.”

“At times,” Emma answered, unsure what Regina's motives could be. “But the city more than makes up for it.”

“And how long are you planning on staying?”

“At least until winter.”

Regina gave a small hum. “And you’re hoping to return home with news of a husband, I presume.”

“Oh, um, no. My parents just thought it would be good for me to gain some experience at court.” Yes, Emma knew a lady in her age should be on the lookout for a husband, but she also thought the topic a bit delicate to discuss with new acquaintances.

“Of course,” Regina smiled, not at all believing Emma. “And what of Lord Killian Jones? I doubt anyone in the hall has failed to notice you’ve been sitting with him earlier this evening.”

“Oh, he was just reading,” Emma said, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. Because it _wasn’t_. “I’m not sure why he chose my table.”

“Why, because you’re the latest pretty face, of course. A country girl like you won’t hold his interest for long though, but surely you already knew that.”

Emma was beginning to see why everyone warned her to stay away from Regina. “I haven’t really thought that much about it,” she said.

Once again, Regina gave her that smile, as if she thought it was sweet that Emma would try to lie. “I just thought I’d warn you in case you actually were foolish enough to believe you might have a chance to become the next Lady Jones.”

Fortunately, Regina continued before Emma had to fabricate a non-sarcastic, polite reply.

“Honestly, I feel sorry for whichever girl ends up with Lord Killian Jones. He’s always been tolerable at best, but after his brother’s death last year, well...” Regina trailed off, noticing the hint of surprise in Emma’s eyes as if she’d been waiting for that very reaction. “Oh, you didn’t know about his brother? Well, I suppose much news never reaches the forestlands.” She sipped her wine before continuing. “But if he hasn’t told you about his brother, then what have the two of you been talking about all evening?”

“Just trivial things.”

Regina arched an eyebrow.

“We haven’t talked much,” Emma added, “he mostly reads.”

“I wonder which books could be so interesting he must bring them to every ball.”

“They’re mostly adventure stories from what I’ve gathered,” Emma said. She didn’t know why, but she felt a strong urge to prevent Regina from discovering that underneath the false bindings, Killian’s books were highly political.

“And apparently they’re more interesting than you,” Regina said offhandedly, placing a small bite of apple pie on her fork. “Listen, Lady Emma; you and I both know you don’t belong here. I mean, look at you - you’re like a fish out of water. Perhaps you should have stayed home, but since you didn’t, I’d be willing to help you out for as long as you’re here.”

“I appreciate your kindness, Lady Regina,” Emma said, her hands curling into fists underneath the table. Oh, if only Regina knew how much of a “fish out of water” she truly was.

“As you should. It’s hardly every country girl I’d invite to my table. Now...”

As Regina began asking Emma more questions about Killian and their conversations, Emma grew more and more certain that she was a part of something she didn’t quite understand. Only when Regina’s steward made his return from the serving table with more wine did Emma begin to figure out what was going on; the steward didn’t go directly to Regina’s table. He stopped at Emma’s first.

 _The books_.

Killian’s books were still on the table and he hadn’t returned yet. Emma tried not to let it show that she had noticed Regina’s steward, but she couldn’t let him look through Killian’s books.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, standing suddenly and interrupting Regina. The woman’s collected demeanour finally cracked as she looked up at Emma in surprise. “I just remembered that I told my steward to find me at my table. He’ll be worried if I’m not there!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Regina muttered under her breath. “Child, there is no need -”

“I’m sorry, Lady Regina, but I must go.”

She definitely could have been more subtle, but it was the best excuse she could think of. When she returned to her table, the steward had smoothly moved away, and Emma doubted anyone else had noticed his intentions. He was good, she’d give him that.

The hours were growing late, and the ballroom already seemed less crowded. But Emma wouldn’t risk any noblemen asking her for a last dance, so she took a chance at one of Killian’s other books. This time, the content was exactly what the binding promised: poetry.

Emma knew more about tawdry bar songs than she did poems, but the rouse worked and no one approached her as she read.

Turning another page, Emma wondered where Robin was. He’d been gone for over two hours. And where was Killian?

“Enjoying Heberen?”

Emma startled, recognizing the voice of the very lord she was just thinking of. He came around the table to reclaim his chair as Emma got over her initial shock, only to blurt out, “What?”.

Killian smiled, his eyebrows raised as he nodded towards the book in front of her.

“Oh,” Emma frowned, wondering if she should be truthful or not about her opinion of the book. “Not really.”

“And yet you were so immersed, you didn’t even hear me approach - are you aware how jumpy you are, lass?”

Emma scowled at him. “I only pretended to read it so I could be left alone for a while. I must have dozed off for a bit in the meantime.”

“Got tired of all that dancing, did you?”

“My feet did.”

“Ah. Well, my lady, you need never fear that I would be dispelled by the sight of you with a book in your hand. Especially not when it’s _my_ book.”

“I’m pretty sure I should never fear you offering to dance either.”

“Is that disappointment I hear?”

“On the contrary, it’s extreme joy.”

“Believe what you will, Swan.”

Oddly enough, Emma liked the way her last name sounded from his lips without any “lady” in front of it.

“Either way, I’m afraid it won’t be tonight,” Killian continued as he began gathering his books. “I’ve agreed to meet with these tossers I call friends, which means I must bid you goodnight, Lady Emma.”

She handed him the book of poetry. “Goodnight, Lord Killian.”

For a split second, it was just the two of them looking at each other, and then Killian departed with a nod and a smile, and a stack of books under each arm. Emma watched him meet up with Lord Phillip, the bookless lord clapping the other on the back as they walked off somewhere together.

Once again, in a room full of people, Emma sat alone.

Where the hell had Robin disappeared to anyways?

Deciding that she didn’t want to sit around waiting anymore, Emma got up to look after her supposed steward. She left through a door she’d seen all the stewards pass through during the evening, and found herself in a dimly lit corridor. It was empty at the moment, and Emma went on ahead.

After a minute or so, she admitted to herself that she had no clue where she was going. But it was nice and quiet, and she’d almost rather end up lost than return to the ballroom. Dark corridors were more familiar to her than a dancefloor ever could be.

Alas, Emma didn’t want to explain why she’d gotten lost in the halls of Keep Mills, so she turned back towards the ballroom - only to come face to face with a stern-looking noblewoman.

“Are you lost, dear?”

“I was just looking for my steward, my lady,” Emma explained.

“Surely he’s not wandering the corridors, Lady... Swan, was it?”

Emma nodded, and with a small curtsey said, “yes, Lady Emma Swan, my lady.”

The woman seemed entirely unimpressed, reminding Emma of Lady Regina. She nodded her head, ever so slightly. “Lady Cora Mills; and as the hostess of this ball, I might remind you that snooping around others’ homes isn’t polite.”

Well, shit. Emma though meeting Regina was bad enough - getting on the Duchess’ bad side from the beginning was even worse.

“I’m very sorry, your grace, I didn’t mean to snoop. I merely wanted to find my steward.”

Cora smiled, but not a warm, comforting smile. No, it rather looked like she enjoyed watching Emma scramble for an apology. “Next time, you might ask a servant to find him.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, your grace.” Hoping she was right in taking that as her cue to leave, Emma gave another curtsey and turned right, towards the ballroom.

“Lady Emma?” Cora called behind her, and Emma suppressed the urge to grimace. She turned around, keeping her head low. “Another word of advice,” Cora started, walking towards Emma. “Never bite off more than you can chew.”

Without another word, Cora brushed past Emma. She watched the duchess walk away, a sour taste in her mouth and the words echoing in her head.

 _Never bite off more than you can chew_.

**\---**

A few minutes after Emma had returned to her table, Robin returned as well. He apologized, saying that every time he had returned, she’d been on the dancefloor. He thought he’d be more useful talking to other servants than waiting for her by the wall. Both agreed it was time to go home though, and Emma was glad for it. The evening had perplexed her in several ways, and she was keen to hear what the others would make of it.

And like her, the rest were worried what Regina and Cora might be up to.

“That Jones bloke is certainly popular,” Will commented.

“Or the opposite,” Snow replied.

“If they’re trying to take a peek at his stuff and eager to hear what Emma knows about him, he’s certainly on one kind of list or another,” Ruby chipped in. Coming back to the townhouse to see her best friend in the drawing room had been a welcome surprise. Emma wasn’t so sure if she liked the way Ruby looked at her every time Killian was mentioned though. Why, she was just as bad as Robin!

“But Jones really shouldn’t have been sitting at your table,” David said, not for the first time.

“I know, David. But as I’ve said, I couldn’t just shoo him away!”

“But...” David trailed off with a sigh, running a hand over his face.

“Change of topic,” Snow said, resting a comforting hand on her fiancé’s leg. “Ruby and I have been discussing contacting the court physician-”

“Not Whale,” David sighed, again.

“Yes, Whale,” Snow said. “I know you don’t like the idea, but he’s our best chance at proving that you _are_ George’s son, and the rightful heir to the throne.”

“I don’t trust him,” David argued.

“Let Ruby and I figure out if he’s trustworthy or not. After all, you haven’t seen him for seven years.”

They discussed the matter of Whale a little longer, as well as House Mills and a bit of servants’ gossip Robin and Will had come across. Well past midnight, they decided to call it a day, and Emma could barely get up from her armchair.

“The next ball is in four days at Keep Gold,” Snow reminded her before they went to bed.

“Try not to get entangled with another Great House,” David warned, albeit teasingly. “I don’t know how long this’ll last if you butt heads with Lord Gold as well.”

“I’ll be careful, David. I always am.” In the meantime, Emma looked forward to four days of being ‘just Emma’.

**\---**

The streets were busy as ever, as a lovely spring afternoon graced the city of Misthaven. Emma kept to the shade of the buildings, walking with no certain destination in mind. Glad to be wearing a pair of breeches instead of a dress, she felt oddly light. No one would recognize her as a lady of court; not the loners who kept to the shade like herself, nor the groups of nobles who seemed to make a sport out of taking up as much space as possible. With no make-up, no fancy hair-do, no jewellery and no dress, she was simply another face in the crowd.

After having spent weeks in the townhouse, learning proper etiquette and various dances, Emma revelled in the chance to be outside. She had no responsibilities or tasks for the day, a rare occurrence indeed. _Spare time_ was not something she was used to. Usually, her days were spent looking for food, shelter or ways to earn money. Emma Swan never simply went for a stroll. (Well, she did have a habit of climbing the rooftops). But here she was. Perhaps she’d venture down to the harbour?

And no, a certain pair of blue eyes did not cross her mind when she thought of the ocean.

Emma turned away from the busy street, stepping into an alleyway. Aside from a pair of people, the path was empty. Emma could spot city guards from a mile away though, and the sight of a guard and a young boy nearly made her stop mid-step.

The boy was pleading, clutching a loaf of bread in his hand as the guard had him backed up against the wall. His feet were bare, and his clothes worn-out and filthy. Emma knew all too well what was going on.

She thought of turning around, or slowly walking past the scene without lifting her eyes. But those thoughts had already fled when she heard the sharp _crack_ of the guard’s fist hitting the boy’s face. Emma froze as she watched the boy stumble into the wall, tumbling to the ground as the bread fell out of his hand.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, and before she knew it she was striding towards the guard. She may live in a luxurious townhouse and spend her evenings at balls, but she’d been that kid before. Deep down, she was still that kid. No amounts of jewellery could change that, and she damned well didn’t want it to.

“Hey! Come on, he’s just a kid.”

“Mind your own business, girl,” the guard snarled at her. She met his glare head-on. In the corner of her eye, she saw the kid stir, and relief flooded through her; consciousness meant he still had a chance to run.

“I decide what is and what isn’t my business.”

The guard barked out a laugh, stepping closer so he could tower over her. Perfect. “Sounds like you need some sense knocked into you as well.”

On the ground, the boy was slowly getting himself upright. Emma hoped he would take the opportunity she was offering him, subtly waving at him to run.

She looked up at the guard, smirking. “I’d like to see you try.”

In a flash, he’d grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall - but Emma was prepared. Her shoulders scraped against the bricks, but she kept her head fixed and quickly twisted out of the guard’s grip. He turned towards her as she side-stepped him, an ugly grin on his face. But Emma was smiling as well, because he’d turned his back on the boy, and in no time at all, the kid was running down the alleyway, the dirtied bread in his hand.

The guard spun around at the sound of running, and Emma took her chance to bolt as well. He was quicker than she’d expected though, and managed to grab her wrist. In a brutal pull, he flung her around in a quarter of a circle but she kept herself upright.

“Think you’re clever, do you?”

Instead of answering, she aimed her knee at his unguarded groin.

Just in time, he stepped to the side and her knee only hit his thigh. He gave a grunt still, but before she could make a run for it, he took advantage of her wavering balance, throwing a punch at her. His fist connected with her cheek, and she lost her footing, falling against the wall. The bricks scraped her shoulders again, and she almost pushed back, ready to throw her own punch when the guard opened his mouth again.

“Unless you want to spend a month in jail, you should stay down, bitch.”

At once, the reality of the situation hit her, and it stung more than her cheek or the scrapes on her back. She wasn’t just a street urchin anymore with nothing to lose. She was Lady Emma Swan, and ladies didn’t fight with city guards, and they didn’t get thrown in jail. And she _did_ have something to lose.

Instead of pushing back, Emma slumped against the wall until she landed on the ground. Giving up hurt more than she would admit, but David’s and Snow’s plan was worth more than her pride.

“Thought so,” the guard grumbled, spitting on her before turning and walking away as if nothing had happened.

Emma waited until he’d disappeared around the corner before sitting upright with her knees tucked against her chest. She raised a hand to her cheek, gently feeling the tender skin where a bruise no doubt was going to form. She bowed her head, berating herself for being so careless. The bruises on her wrist and the marks on her back could be covered, but she couldn’t show up at a ball with a black eye. She could just imagine the looks on Snow’s and David’s faces when she returned home. One look, and they’d know she’d possibly jeopardized their plan.

A small flicker of satisfaction simmered within her, however, as she looked at the spot where the boy had fallen. At the very least, she’d helped him get away.

**\---**

Killian Jones disliked plenty of nobles, however, no one made his blood boil as much as Lord Gold. Even as a kid, the rich Duke had made him uncomfortable. Killian fondly remembered snickering about his pointy teeth and calling him ‘the crocodile’, to which Liam would always try to berate him without ever meaning it. The list of reasons why Killian couldn’t stand Lord Gold was long, but not as long as the list of people Gold had exploited and undermined throughout the years. No list could possibly be that long.

Still, Killian gladly went to the crocodile's grand and stuffy ball. Gladly was perhaps too strong a word, but he knew the loathing between he and Gold was mutual, and showing up would only annoy the good old crocodile - Killian didn’t need much more incentive than that. After all, causing annoyance was the reason he showed up at most balls.

Although he wouldn’t deny that the arrival of Lady Emma Swan had made the latest balls a great deal more enjoyable.

Killian found himself at the drinks table, surveying the ballroom as a servant poured him a glass of red wine. He hadn’t spotted her blonde hair yet, but surely she wouldn’t miss a ball at the great and mighty House Gold.

“Looking for someone?”

Killian turned his head towards the voice - a voice he recognized, but not one he particularly liked. Yes, he and Neal Gold had been friends as children, but the years had turned them into vastly different men, and the greeting smile on Killian’s lips was more for show than anything else.

“Not you, I’m afraid,” Killian jested, although it wasn’t a lie.

Neal laughed and took a glass of wine from a tray, stepping towards Killian. “I’m guessing it’s that blonde I saw you with the other night at Keep Mills, huh?”

“Spying on me, are you? Why, I didn’t know you cared.”

Neal didn’t fall for his attempt at distraction, instead raising his glass as if giving a toast. “She was a good-looking girl, I’ll give you that.” He drank, while Killian ignored the way his stomach turned. “Of course, she’s way below our station,” Neal continued, “but I imagine she’s a great way to pass the time until you finally settle down with someone.”

Killian couldn’t explain the sudden rage within him. How could Neal talk of Emma in such a manner? As if she wasn’t a real person, just some pretty face. Trying his best to keep the vehemence from his voice, he asked, “And how are you and the Lady Tamara facing the idea of settling down?”

“Oh, it’s alright. She won’t talk about much else than the wedding, but once it’s over she’s bound to stop chirping about it, right?”

“Aye, I suppose,” Killian agreed, wondering why he’d ever considered himself friends with this man.

“Well, good luck with that blonde of yours,” Neal winked, clapping Killian on the shoulder before stepping away.

“Good luck with your fiancée,” Killian said lowly. Really, he should have said good luck _to_ his fiancée.

With Neal gone, Killian left as well to wander the edge of the ballroom. Neal’s words left a sour taste in his mouth and he tried to drown it with the wine (and a bit of rum from his flask), all the while searching for Emma. After an hour, he concluded that she hadn’t shown up, and probably wasn’t going to. He couldn’t fault her for that decision.

Instead, he spotted Phillip and Thomas with their lady-friends, and decided to join them at their table. Eric was there as well, so it wasn’t like he’d be interrupting anything.

His friends greeted him with grins and one-armed hugs, while Aurora and Ella gave him curt nods. The young lady Grace offered a shy smile, but quickly looked away again. Killian thought naught of the ladies’ greetings, grabbed a chair and joined in on the conversation, doing his best to forget a certain Lady Emma.

He lasted about five minutes before he asked about her.

“You ladies wouldn’t happen to know if Lady Emma Swan is attending tonight?” He’d seen Emma with Aurora and Ella before - perhaps they’d become friends. However, Aurora and Ella certainly didn’t think of Killian as their friend, and they narrowed their eyes at him.

“Why do you ask?”

Killian shrugged nonchalantly at Ella’s question. “T’was just an innocent wondering, my lady.”

“Nothing you do is ever innocent, Lord Killian,” Aurora said, and of course, Phillip laughed in agreement. Good friends are always the first to laugh at one’s expense. Especially if there’s a lady love involved.

“I think Killian’s developed a fancy for the Lady Emma,” Eric teased, and Killian silenced the part of him which agreed.

“Of what I saw at Keep Mills, he even spent more time talking to her than reading his beloved books,” Phillip joined in.

“We all saw it,” Aurora said, her tone much less teasing. “And I don’t care if you’ve developed a fancy for Lady Emma, she deserves much better than you toying with her.”

“Who says I’m toying with her?”

“Please, Killian; it’s what you do. It’s what you always do.”

“Well, maybe I’ve changed. Maybe Lady Emma’s the one who will make an honest man out of me.” Everyone paused at Killian’s words, disbelieving. He kept his face straight for a moment, before letting a laugh rumble through his lips. He ignored the fact that it felt more false than it should have. The lords quickly realized he had been joking, and started laughing as well, while the ladies remained dismayed.

“I don’t believe you’ll ever be an honest man, Lord Killian,” Aurora shook her head. He didn’t fault her for believing so. The entire court likely thought he was nothing but a no-good scoundrel - after all, he’d built that reputation himself. But Aurora’s words touched a hollowness that Killian had always done his best to ignore. He masked it with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and swallowed a mouthful of rum.

“So, please, Lord Killian,” Ella said, “stay away from Lady Emma. She is much too kind and sweet to deserve you ruining her experience at court.”

Killian licked a drop of wine from the corner of mouth. “I’ll do my best.”

The ladies frowned at his waggling eyebrows while Thomas rolled his eyes. Only he, Phillip and Eric believed that Killian could be more than a scoundrel. And the rest of court could think whatever they bloody well pleased. As for Emma... well, Killian hardly knew what to think anymore. She felt special for some reason, and he didn’t fancy dwelling on that fact. Perhaps he really should stay away from her.

If only he could stop thinking about her.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you've got the time, I'd love to know what you think!


	4. At the edge of the water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely response!! It never fails to make me smile, and I'm so happy you're enjoying the story (and the banter) so far :D

More than a week had passed. Killian had attended four balls since he’d last seen Emma at Keep Mills, and he couldn’t help but worry. Albeit reluctantly, Ella had informed him that Emma had fallen ill, but she gave him no further details. Initially, he had hoped that it was nothing serious, but if more than a week had passed...

He really needed to stop thinking about her.

Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, she always lingered in the back of his mind. He felt foolish, like he was some inexperienced schoolboy. Phillip, Thomas and Eric hadn’t said anything, so perhaps he was better at hiding his thoughts than he believed. Had his brother still been alive though, Killian didn’t doubt he would have had something to say. Liam had always been able to see straight through him.

Entering his favourite store, Killian willed himself to temporarily forget both Emma and Liam. Instead, he feasted his eyes upon the rows of books around him, old as well as new. He could find plenty of books in the royal libraries or even in the library of Keep Jones, but he’d always felt more at home in the bookstore. It didn’t belong to his father, and no one kept any record of which books he read. Well, except for Miss Belle, but Killian trusted her much more than he did the librarians.

“Lord Killian!” Belle greeted as soon as she saw him in her store - well, technically it was her father’s store, but Killian rarely ever saw the wealthy merchant. “It’s been a while since you’ve been around!”

“Missed me, have you?”

Belle gave him that look she always gave him when he flirted with her. After four years of friendship, he’d grown quite accustomed to the sight.

“No, my lord, but I do hope you’ve been well.”

No matter how many times he told her to stop addressing him so formally, Belle refused to comply. In turn, he always called her _Lady_ Belle.

“I’ve been alright. I finished _The Final City_ a few days ago.”

“Oh, what did you think?”

As they began to discuss the book Belle had recommended him two weeks ago, Killian idly studied the shelves, finding both familiar and unfamiliar titles. Belle’s father had books brought in from all over the Enchanted Forest and beyond, turning the shop into something of a goldmine in Killian’s eyes.

Unbidden, Killian remembered his first encounter with Lady Emma, where he told her not all treasure was made of gold. They’d been talking of books and piracy, but standing there on the balcony with her, _treasure_ seemed to gain a whole new meaning.

After a while, Belle and Killian had walked through the store and ended at the shelves full of quills, parchment, trinkets and oddities. Killian surveyed the items, his attention eventually caught by at a fine set of paints. Lost in thought, he barely noticed that Belle left to help another customer.

At Keep Mills, Emma had told him she enjoyed painting at home. But had she brought any equipment with her on her trip to Misthaven? Was her illness mild enough that she might still enjoy painting?

His fingers itched to grab the brilliant set of colours. Of course, they were no match for the gold of her hair or the green of her eyes... or the soft pink of her lips.

Killian shook his head, but before he could second-guess his decision, he grabbed the paints and headed for Belle’s desk. Shuffling his feet, he waited for Belle to finish talking with the elderly woman.

_Put the paints back, you foolish git_ , he thought. He almost turned around to do so when Belle met him at the desk. The two books in his hands were no surprise, but she tilted her head at the paints.

“When did you begin painting?”

“It’s, uh, it’s for a friend, my lady,” Killian said.

“A friend?” Belle repeated, a teasing smile on her lips. Killian didn’t give any further comments and handed over the needed sum of coins when she gave him the price.

“Thanks, as always, Lady Belle,” Killian said, stuffing the books and the paints in his satchel. “Have a pleasant day.”

“You too, Lord Killian,” Belle said, and just as he was about to turn away, she added, “and good luck with your _friend_.”

Outside of the store and onto the bustling street, Killian cursed himself. Why did he buy the damned set of paints? They’d only spoken together three times, and the second hardly even counted, and Emma was no doubt going to think him insane.

He could send them to her without leaving his name, but she’d probably guess it was him anyway. Also, he would have to ask around for her address in Misthaven. Although he didn’t mind people seeing him with her at balls, sending gifts was perhaps a bit too intimate for their acquaintance. And he truly didn’t want to make her the centre of court gossip.

_“So, please, Lord Killian, stay away from Lady Emma. She is much too kind and sweet to deserve you ruining her experience at court.”_

Ella and Aurora were right; Emma deserved better than him.

Resigning himself to hiding the paints away in his room, Killian made his way to the harbour. Nothing could ever soothe his troubles quite like the sight of the ocean.

\-----------

Emma picked at her food, the guilt still lessening her appetite. She hadn’t attended any balls or seen anyone at court for almost two weeks. Instead, she’d been cooped up in the townhouse with a black eye and abrasions on her back and her palms. Only the bruise on her face was still visible, the blue now an ugly yellow. It was still tender though, and make-up wasn’t able to cover it up.

Snow, David and the rest had forgiven her within a minute after she returned to the townhouse - they had never even been angry with her, or so they claimed. Robin had procured an ointment for her bruise, and they had all agreed that there was nothing to do but wait until it healed.

Emma felt absolutely awful.

She had almost left the first night. She couldn’t stand the looks everyone gave her - they were too kind, way kinder than what she deserved. She could only imagine how they must be talking about her behind her back, letting their true ire show. They probably wished they had never offered her the job.

On some level though, Emma was secretly happy that she didn’t have to attend any courtly outings for the time being. She had only been to three balls, but already she had started to feel comfortable amongst the nobles. Seeing that boy beaten by the guard, however, reminded her of who she truly was. Any nobleman would have turned their eyes away, and walked past the boy. They wouldn’t have cared in the least. How could she ever feel comfortable amongst the likes of them?

A week ago, an envelope had arrived from Lady Aurora, inviting her to a birthday lunch at the sea. As a postscript, she had asked if there was a reason Emma hadn’t been to the recent balls. With some help from Snow, Emma had written back that she had fallen ill, but she hoped to be well again in time for the birthday.

Now, two days until the celebration, Emma was conflicted. A part of her hoped the bruise would heal in time, and the other hoped it wouldn’t. She dared not voice her troubles to anyone though - she’d already let everyone down enough as it was.

“Everything alright, Emma?” David asked from across the table. It was just the two of them and Robin for lunch. Will was off god knows where, and Snow had gone with Ruby to visit the physician Whale.

“Yeah... just nervous about how things are going with Whale, I guess.”

David hummed in agreement. He wasn’t at all fond of the plan, but Snow had convinced him in the end.

“They should be back soon,” Robin said. “And I’m sure things are going smoothly.”

_It can’t be going less smoothly than my attempts at infiltrating court_ , Emma thought, continuing to push the stew around in her bowl. Who would’ve thought that Emma, the orphan, would ever play with her food instead of devouring it on sight?

“Emma...” David started, seeming to contemplate whether he wished to continue his thought. “We really don’t blame you for what happened. You did the right thing, helping that boy.”

He and Snow had been saying similar things throughout the days, whenever they felt like Emma was being too gloomy... which, admittedly, was most of the time.

Emma just shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I jeopardised the plan,” she mumbled.

“Emma, none of us have been thinking that for even a moment. You acted as any human should, and I’m proud of you. I’ve been nothing but proud of you and thankful for what you’ve done, but if it becomes too much... you know you can tell us, right?”

“It’s not too much.” Louder, she said, “I can do it.”

She wondered if David could tell that she was reassuring herself as much as him. As if underlining the statement, she finally took a bite of the stew. The meat settled in her stomach better than she thought it would.

Snow and Ruby returned an hour after they’d finished lunch. The walk to and from the palace was quite long, and they had had to wait a while at the physician’s quarters as well. Robin had a bowl of stew ready for each of them, and they all sat down at the dining table. Except for Will, who was still out and about.

“So was the plan successful?” Robin asked.

Ruby was the one to answer, while Snow swallowed a mouthful of stew. “Well, he didn’t suspect us of anything...”

Whale, about two decades older than David, had been the physician’s apprentice when David was a young boy. He liked to experiment, and had studied just about everything there was to know about the human body (although his time spent at brothels probably wasn’t the academic kind of studying).

Snow and Ruby had devised a ruse, claiming that Ruby had a young kid whose father refused to believe that the boy was his. In desperation, Ruby, with the support of her friend Snow, would therefore ask Whale if there was any way to prove that the father was indeed the father.

Of course, the ruse was meant to see if Whale might be able to prove that David was George’s son and rightful heir.

“... but it doesn’t seem he’ll be able to help,” Ruby said.

“He’d have to examine both the son and the father quite closely in order to make any conclusion,” Snow explained. “A few strands of hair or drops of blood wouldn’t be enough.”

“Doesn’t sound like something George would agree to,” David said, stating the obvious.

They all sat in silence, contemplating what to do next. They had known that Whale would probably be a dead-end, but Emma had hoped it would work out. Proving David’s heritage seemed a lot more useful than whatever the hell she was up to.

“We can always fall back on the gossip I heard amongst the servants,” Robin said at last. “They keep quiet about it, but it seems a lot of those who have seen the young Prince James believe he bears quite the resemblance to you as a boy.”

“Yes,” David said, lowly. “That will have to do for now.”

Emma looked at her hands, curled in her lap. She really had to pull her act together.

**\----------------**

Aurora couldn’t have hoped for better weather on her birthday. And Emma had to admit, she couldn’t have hoped for a better event to return to court to. Her bruise had healed, and Snow had chosen a more casual dress, befitting the outdoors lunch. Though a lot of people had been invited, Emma felt better with the light breeze in her hair and the sun on her skin; it beat feeling trapped in a ballroom.

Aurora, Ella, Grace and a number of other ladies greeted Emma warmly, saying they were happy to see her recovered. What might they have said, if they’d known she had gotten a black eye for helping a thief run away?

Emma was surprised to see Lady Regina and her younger sister Lady Zelena attending, but Aurora whispered to her that one should always invite every noble around one’s own age - unless you wished to make a very bold statement and cause guaranteed offence. Lady Regina and her sister didn’t _have_ to accept the invitation though. Like Lord Killian Jones; Aurora had invited him too, even though she didn’t care much for him (beyond him being her suitor’s best friend), but he hadn’t shown up.

For some reason, Emma felt she had to be very careful of her expression when Aurora mentioned Killian. The brunette’s eyes were like a hawk’s as soon as she mentioned his name.

Although she feigned disinterest, Emma couldn’t help but feel disappointed at Killian’s absence. She’d thought of him a lot the past two weeks - too much actually. Way too much. But she couldn’t deny that the part of her that was happy to be returning to court, was largely happy because she’d get to see Killian again.

The book-loving lord’s absence wasn’t without perks though. Without him there to distract her, Emma was able to speak with quite a few nobles. Something about the casual setting on the hilltop overlooking the ocean made it easier to float around from conversation to conversation. She’d mostly listen and rarely offered more than a few words unless she was answering a question. Her head almost began to spin with all the new names, opinions and insights.

Due to the more casual nature of the midday party, Emma didn’t see much of Robin. He stood with the other stewards, apart from the tables and the area where nobles mingled. Hopefully, he was gaining a lot of information too.

Despite her best efforts, running into Regina was unavoidable.  Although their encounter didn’t last much longer than a curt _“glad to see you back_ ”, the way she’d sneered the words with a sharp smile made Emma’s skin crawl. Luckily, a nobleman came along and decided to interrupt, allowing Emma to slip away.

She met the younger Mills sister not long after. With her distinguishable red curls and wide smile, Lady Zelena was exactly the court gossip everyone said she was. From what Emma had heard, Zelena had never been quite as ambitious or bright as her mother or sister - or perhaps Cora had never encouraged her much. Emma couldn’t help but feel like there was something off about the redhead though. Like she was putting up an act of some kind. Emma had always been good at spotting lies, and although Zelena wasn’t lying per say, she was hiding something or another. Emma had better things to dwell on though.

After two hours, she was already tired. She’d smiled and greeted more people than she could possibly count, including Killian’s friends - Phillip, Thomas and Eric. Killian still hadn’t shown though, and she knew he wouldn’t show at all, but a part of her still hoped...

Emma closed her eyes, facing the ocean as a breeze swept over her. She had stepped away from the party, although not far. She just needed a moment for herself.

The sun was warm on her face, and the sound of waves lapping at the shore below calmed her. When she opened her eyes again, she looked as far as she could in the clear and bright day, following the line of the horizon. It was no wonder that Killian loved the ocean.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Lady Ella said, startling Emma from her thoughts. Fortunately, Ella didn’t seem to notice.

“It is,” Emma agreed.

“The sun isn’t too much for you, is it? It must be overwhelming after having just overcome your illness.”

Ella must have mistaken Emma’s blush for a reaction towards the heat. In truth, having been interrupted from thoughts of a certain pair of blue eyes was the reason behind Emma’s tinted cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Emma said. Smiling, she added, “it’s lovely, actually. I haven’t had the chance to be much outside these past days”.

Ella hummed. “I can imagine. I’m really glad you recovered in time for today though. And I know that Lady Aurora is happy you’re here, too.”

Detecting no hints of a lie, not even a polite one, Emma replied with an equally honest _thank you_. And perhaps a less honest, “I’m happy to be here, too.”

A little while later, Emma was sitting at one of the round tables with the birthday girl herself, along with Lord Phillip and Thomas, a few others and of course, Lady Ella. They sat it in the shade of a parasol, sipping white wine and nibbling on small almond biscuits. Emma had been quiet for a while, but no one seemed to notice or mind. She was alright though. Tired for sure, but alright.

“I hope I’m not too late for the fun to start.”

Emma’s head whipped towards the voice, her stomach doing flips as she saw Lord Killian Jones standing in the sunlight. She could have sworn his eyes lit up when he saw her, but then again, it could have been the light. Their eyes didn’t even meet for more than a split second before Killian turned towards Lady Aurora, who had emitted a surprised “Lord Killian!”.

“Lady Aurora,” Killian bowed, “I wish you a joyous twentieth birthday, and humbly apologize for my tardiness. I’m afraid I got caught up reading and completely forgot the time.”

“Oh. Well, you’re here now. And thank you, Lord Killian; it has been a most wonderful day so far.”

Without further ado, Killian took the empty seat beside Phillip, and Emma noticed a certain look pass between the two. Perhaps it had something to do with the way Emma’s lie detector had ticked when Killian explained why he was late. What the real reason could be, Emma had no idea, but she happily noticed that for once, Killian hadn’t brought any books with him.

Remembering herself, and the fact that people could easily catch her staring at Killian, Emma turned her attention back to the resumed conversation at the table. An odd sensation - almost happy - had started to simmer in her stomach. She suddenly felt much more awake than she had before.

Conversation flowed easily, and although she still didn’t say much, Emma wasn’t forcing the lingering smile on her lips. She even tried to remove it, hating herself for suddenly feeling so much lighter, just because some handsome lord had turned up, but the feeling stuck.

When about twenty minutes had passed, some of the nobles left to mingle in other groups. Aurora and Phillip soon slipped away as well - Ella and Thomas, too. Not wanting to be alone with Killian, Eric and the two others at the table, Emma excused herself as well, under the guise of having to speak with her steward. Leaving the tables, traitorous feelings of disappointment flooded through her; Killian may have smiled at her a few times, but he hadn’t even properly said hello, or asked her how she was feeling. Had he even noticed that she’d been gone for the past two weeks?

_Get a grip, Emma._ There were way more important things to worry about, she reminded herself as she walked towards the place where she’d last seen Robin.

She found him easily enough and subtly waved him towards her. She didn’t really need to speak with him, but in case anyone from the table was watching, she didn’t want to look like she’d made a false excuse.

“Everything alright, milady?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just wondering when you think people will be expected to head home?”

Robin eyed her with concern. “Not for another hour at least - are you sure you’re alright? You can always say you’ve started to feel a bit unwell again, or tired.”

Emma shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine. Truly. I was just wondering, you know, just so I know what to expect.”

He didn’t seem to believe her entirely, but as her steward, he had to obey when she dismissed him. Sighing, Emma wondered what to do next. She didn’t really feel up for chatting with more new faces, and she didn’t want to disturb her friends when they were with their gentlemen. (One of those two couples was bound to get engaged soon). Seeking out Killian was destined to end badly, so instead, Emma went back to the edge of the hilltop.

She would have gone all the way down to the water if the path hadn’t been too steep. She was under no illusions that she could make the descent in her current attire without falling. Instead, she enjoyed the view from the hill and kept herself from looking over her shoulder to see where Killian was.

The fight was lost when Emma spotted him in the corner of her eye. He was walking away from her, but she recognized his coat. How he could stand wearing black leather under the warm sun was beyond her, but he looked good in it. Emma didn’t doubt that he was well aware of the fact.

After a moment, it became apparent that Killian was doing what she so wished to do - descending the hill, making his way down to the beach. Trousers weren’t easy to stumble in, Emma supposed. Or perhaps there was a less steep path over there?

She waited for a minute or two before slowly walking over to the place where Killian had disappeared, pretending to be lost in thought as she looked out at the ocean. To her delight, there _was_ a better path down to the beach. It twisted down the hillside, ending somewhere Emma couldn’t see. She couldn’t see Killian either for that matter. Waiting another two minutes, Emma began to step down the path. She hoped no one saw her, but it wouldn’t be the worst if they did. A lady was allowed to take a stroll down by the beach, right?

When she reached the sand, Emma immediately resented her shoes and stockings. She would have loved to walk barefoot by the waves.

Killian stood further down the beach, gazing out at the water. Emma guessed he couldn’t be seen from the hilltop over there - she couldn’t even see the party where she stood now.

She knew she should either stay where she was or walk in the opposite direction of Killian, but when he turned around and noticed her, she knew neither was going to happen.

“Are you following me, Lady Emma?” he teased.

“I’m just taking a stroll on the beach,” she answered, stepping closer towards him so they didn’t have to raise their voices to speak.

“Well, it is a lovely day for it.”

“It is indeed.”

She stopped a few paces away from him, neither saying anything for the first few moments. Then, Killian gave a slight bow with his head. “It’s good to see you back and well, my lady.”

“Thank you, my lord. Though I doubt you even noticed I was gone - imagine all the time you had to get caught up with reading.”

“Ah, but that’s exactly why I noticed your absence. Suddenly, I could read a whole page without anyone distracting me.”

Emma all but rolled her eyes at him. “The way I remember it, _you_ were the one who sat down at _my_ table at Keep Mills.”

“But you were the one who stole my favourite spot on the balcony,” Killian countered.

“You said you didn’t mind sharing.”

“And I didn’t,” Killian said, and Emma knew she had to look away from his smile, but she just couldn’t. “I suppose I’m fond of pleasant company as well as books.”

“Hmm. Then why were you truly late today?”

Killian arched an eyebrow in question, and Emma explained, “I’ve got a bit of a talent, you see. I can tell when people are lying.”

“That’s quite a valuable ability,” Killian said. Emma stayed quiet, waiting for him to answer her question. His right hand went up to scratch a spot behind his ear, a gesture Emma didn’t find endearing, no, not at all. “Well, Lady Emma, you’re right. I didn’t get caught up reading, however I _was_ reading. I simply didn’t plan to show at all.”

“Why not?”

“Lady Aurora only invited me to be polite - and because I’m close friends with the man she’s enamoured with. I thought I’d do both her and Phillip a favour by keeping my distance, so she didn’t have to be annoyed with me on her birthday.” Killian looked at the sand, and Emma could hardly believe how humble he looked. Causing annoyance seemed to be his favourite sport, as far as she knew - but he’d stayed at home so he wouldn’t ruin Phillip’s time with Aurora.

“What changed your mind?” she asked, softly.

Killian looked up again at that. “Phillip sent me a note with a servant, saying I was a right git and that I had better show up immediately. So here I am,” he finished, a fond grin having formed on his lips. Emma couldn’t help but smile as well. “You can’t tell anyone though. I can’t have people say I’ve gone soft because of Phillip, it would ruin my reputation completely.”

“And we can’t have that,” Emma laughed. She turned towards the ocean again, trying to get a hold of the fuzzy feeling inside of her.

“Have you been near the ocean before?” Killian asked a minute later. The territory Emma claimed to come from wasn’t near the ocean after all.

“Just once, as a kid,” she lied. “I live near a lake though. It’s beautiful, but I guess this view is something else entirely.”

“Aye.”

They stood quietly, enjoying the sight and the sound of the waves. Suddenly, Killian stepped forward and bent down to pick up a stone in the damp sand. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, looking at Emma with a grin and that signature questioning eyebrow of his. “Ever skipped stones before, my lady?”

She had, but she wasn’t sure if a lady would have. But Emma knew that Killian would probably want to teach her how to do it, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle that. So she decided to go with the truth, and nodded. “A couple of times, yes.”

He handed her the stone, nodding towards the water. “Care to try?”

Emma took the stone, pondering how a lady of her station might throw it. Regina’s smug comment of Emma being a simple _country girl_ came to mind, and well, if Lady Emma was a country girl, she could probably bend her knees and follow through with the movement of her arm and wrist.

Still, she looked over her shoulder, just for a split second, to check that no one except Killian was watching. Then she bent her knees, bit her lip in concentration, and threw the stone.

It skipped four times before sinking. Emma grinned, rather pleased with herself. When Killian returned her grin, ignoring that fuzzy feeling inside of her was impossible. He bent down to grab two more stones, handing one to her before throwing his own. It skipped eight times, and although Emma knew she couldn’t beat that, she accepted his silent challenge.

When he’d thrown his third stone, Killian spoke. “My brother taught me how to skip stones when I was a young lad. I could never beat him back then, much to my displeasure,” he chuckled.

Emma didn’t know what to say, remembering what Regina had told her about Killian’s brother two weeks ago. Did Killian expect her to already know that his brother was dead? Emma hoped he did, because she felt like she had breached his trust somehow.

Killian probably read her silence for what it was, because he turned to her with a soft look and said, “you’ve likely already heard of his death”.

Emma nodded, and although she knew it wouldn’t help anyone she told him she was sorry.

She didn’t even know what it was like to have a sibling (or a family at all) - she couldn’t imagine what it might feel like to lose them.

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian said good-heartedly, picking up another stone. “He could be a righteous git at times. There were moments I wasn’t even sure why he was my favourite person in the world.” He threw the stone, making about seven skips. “But we sailed a lot together - he’d just been made captain before he died. Of course, he always knew he’d have the responsibility of being a Duke someday, but I thought I could just sail the world forever...”

“Like a real pirate, huh?” Emma said, trying to lighten the mood. She hadn’t been prepared for seeing this side of Killian. Somehow, it made him more real. It made the flips in her stomach more real. And it scared her beyond reckoning.

“Aye,” Killian said, turning his head towards her with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Neither of them had to say that he’d never be able to follow his dream, not when Liam’s responsibilities now fell on him.

Emma wanted to steer the topic towards safer grounds, and said the first thing she could come up with. “I’ve never been sailing.”

“No?” Killian raised his eyebrows. “I think you would like it. Just as I think you would like to take off your shoes and step your feet into the water right now.” The last was said with a smirk, and Emma was glad to see him acting more like his usual self.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

Killian shrugged. “You’re a bit of an open book, love.”

Emma didn’t know what to reply, getting lost in the way he was looking at her. She wet her lips and his eyes darted towards the movement. Although the waves were lapping at the sand right beside of them, and seagulls were flying overhead, Emma didn’t notice anything but the sound of her own breathing. Her eyes flickered towards Killian’s mouth, just for a second as he took a small step towards her. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. In that moment, nothing else seemed to matter. Everything except Killian just faded away.

A wave crashed against the shore, nearly splashing both of their feet. The unbidden spell was broken as they both stepped away, him with an uneasy chuckle and her with a wretched feeling in her gut.

He was just about to kiss her. Or she was just about to kiss him. _Something_ was definitely about to happen, and she had almost risked the entire plan in a brief moment of weakness.

It couldn’t happen again. She shoved every growing feeling in a box inside of her, locking it up tight.

“I, uh, I should probably head back to the party and find some water; the sun is making me all dizzy,” she said with a small laugh, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

“Aye. Probably a good idea,” Killian nodded. The stupor she’d seen on his face vanished, replaced with a slight smirk. “I can’t have you fainting in my arms now, can I?”

Emma gave him a wry smile, ignoring the flip in her stomach at the thought of being in Killian’s arms. “It would be most unpleasant for everyone, I’m certain.”

He gave a small chuckle and Emma’s eyes darted around the beach before landing on his one last time. With a parting smile, she left Killian by the waves, ignoring the part of her that wondered if fainting in Killian’s arms really would be that unpleasant (it would be embarrassing for sure, though). When she found Robin later, ready to leave for home, she ignored the look he gave her as well when he noticed the sand on her shoes.


	5. Eavesdropping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for chapter 5, and I just want to thank you all for sticking with me! To those who have commented, I'm sorry I haven't gotten around to replying individually, but seriously, you are all the best!!

“So how have things been around here?” Emma asked.

Ruby gave a one-shouldered shrug, rearranging a few items behind the bar. “Same old, same old. Although there’s a new guy playing the fiddle a few times a week now - he’s not hard to look at, I’ll tell you that,” she winked.

“Hopefully he’s nice to listen to, too,” Emma said, sipping at her ale. It had been a while since she’d heard anything but string orchestras and refined tunes. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind listening to this fiddler no matter what his skill.

“He’s alright. But seriously, he’s one handsome guy...” Ruby trailed off, lost in pleasant thoughts, Emma surmised. Then, she turned towards her with a grin Emma could only describe as wolfish. “I bet he’s got nothing on that Jones boy of yours, though.”

“He’s not _mine_ ,” Emma said, perhaps a smidgen too quickly.

“Not yet.”

“Not ever.”

“You sure about that?”

Emma rolled her eyes at her oldest friend. “You haven’t even seen him, Ruby. You’ve got nothing to base him on.”

“That look in your eyes whenever he’s mentioned is plenty enough to base him on.”

“There’s no look,” Emma defended herself. Ruby merely raised an eyebrow, the unspoken _whatever you say_ glaringly obvious.

Emma huffed, tucking her feet behind the rung of the wooden bar stool. “I don’t know, okay? He’s... he’s intriguing, I guess.”

The image of him on the beach wouldn’t leave her. His honesty when he told her about his brother and about why he’d come to Aurora’s birthday even if he hadn’t planned on it - the look in his eyes when he’d told her she was an open book... Emma had not been prepared for seeing that side of Lord Killian Jones, and now, two days later, she was still thinking about what might have happened if that wave hadn’t crashed at the very moment it did... not that she was going to tell Ruby about any of that.

“Anyways,” Emma went on before Ruby had a chance to say anything, “I really didn’t come here to talk about my current _job_ and all that it entails. It’s my day off - I just want to forget everything that’s going on.”

Ruby took her nearly empty cup and poured more ale into it, setting it back down on the bar. “Well, you know you’ve come to the right place.”

And like that, Ruby allowed the conversation to drift into other topics. For all that she loved to pry, she always knew what every moment called for, and Emma was damned glad for it. Even if it meant getting tipsy at midday.

Emma had first met Ruby when they were both around ten and the tavern had been owned by Ruby’s grandmother. Granny, as everyone called her, had ushered Emma into the kitchen before she could even think of running away. Once a warm meal had been placed in front of her, she realized she was too starved to turn away the rare act of kindness. She promised herself to not come back though.

A few weeks later, Ruby had spotted Emma near the tavern and had offered a job, saying it would lessen her load and that Granny would love to have her around. Emma had refused the offer. She refused to get attached to anyone; previous experiences with thieving crews had taught her that much. But when Granny spotted her a month later, offering her a small job in return for two meals and a night’s rest in a real bed, Emma had been too weak to turn it down. She didn’t stay the entire night though. She did, however, return to the tavern every now and then, whenever she was low on food or needed a penny or two. When Granny died, Ruby took over the tavern, despite being only eighteen. And though the offer for a permanent job at the tavern still stood, Ruby supplied Emma with plenty of rumours and tips instead.

Now, here they were, simply chatting on Emma’s “day off” before the ball at Keep Nostos the next evening.

While Emma was laughing at Ruby’s story about a recent patron, the door to the tavern swung open. With her side towards the door, all it took was a slight turn of the head and Emma’s laughter died in her throat.

None other than Lord Killian Jones himself stepped into Ruby’s tavern, along with Phillip, Eric and Thomas.

“ _Shit_.”

Emma didn’t have time to answer Ruby’s questioning look. She all but stumbled off the chair, grabbing her ale in the process. With her back towards the group of lords, she hurried away from the bar as they walked towards it.

The tavern had a couple of empty tables left, but for some foolish reason, Ruby had never invested in cloths – hiding under a table would therefore likely only draw more attention to Emma. Why the hell were the lords at Ruby’s tavern anyway? In an attempt to hide her face, she tucked the loose curls of her hair away from her ears.

Ruby greeted the young noblemen just as Emma sat down at an empty table in the corner of the tavern. She had her side towards the bar so she could keep an eye on them and still be able to hide her face if they turned her way.

 _Don’t you fucking dare turn my way_ , she thought, clenching the cup of ale in her hand.

The lords ordered some lunch and a few drinks, Killian doing most of the talking - even if she hadn’t been able to see them, she would have recognized his voice anywhere.

“Just take a table and I’ll be right over,” Ruby said after Killian had handed her the needed sum of coins. Emma noticed then, that while the lords obviously weren’t dressed in their fine evening suits, they weren’t dressed in fine day suits either, like at Aurora’s birthday. They were dressed rather plainly, actually - one wouldn’t even necessarily think they were nobles.

How often did they go to taverns like this? Ruby’s wasn’t exactly an upper-class establishment.

Emma didn’t have time to ponder the question as the lords turned her way. _Well, fuck_. She sipped at her ale, thinking the cup would help hide her face as she looked away from the group of friends. They walked towards her side of the tavern, and Emma could have sworn she could feel eyes on her, although it was likely just paranoia. They had no reason to think they’d find Lady Emma Swan in a tavern, so they probably wouldn’t even notice her, even if they caught a glimpse of her face.

Just as she thought they were headed directly for her table, they turned left, seating themselves on two chairs and a bench lining the wall. A single table stood between hers and theirs, as well as a wooden pillar, and with her back to them, they shouldn’t be able to make out her features. And she could hear everything they said.

“Well, this is certainly homier than _The Golden Rooster_ ,” one of the lords said - Thomas?

“A bit dirtier as well,” Eric added, though not haughtily.

“Aye, but it’s worth more support than a place like _The Golden Rooster_.” Killian’s voice was unmistakable. Emma gathered this _Golden Rooster_ was some finer tavern for the upper-class - and Killian’s opinion of it was probably much like his opinion of balls.

“As long as the food is better than that last tavern we went to, I’m happy,” Phillip said, Emma sensing a disliked memory behind the words.

“I thought we agreed never to mention that place again... I can’t even look at crabs lately.”

“It was your own fault, Eric - now you know never to risk crabs in a place like that,” Thomas said.

“It’s not like you were much better off with your herring.”

A few more words were spoken, but Emma didn’t catch them as she saw Ruby exiting the kitchen, balancing four bowls of chicken-broth on a tray. Usually, she had more barmaids working in the evening, but during the day it was just her, the cook and a single helper.

After placing the bowls on the table, Ruby went back to the bar. A second later, she was headed towards Emma with a pitcher in her hand.

“So... what’s going on?” she whispered, pouring ale into Emma’s already half-full cup as slowly as she could.

“They’re noblemen.”

Ruby reigned in her surprise, only a tick in her eyebrow giving it away. “You know them?” Then, setting Emma’s cup back on the table, a sly curl formed at her lips. “Jones isn’t one of them, is he?”

Emma glared at her.

“He _is_ , isn’t he? Which one?”

“Ruby. Go.”

Ruby gave a small pout, but relented - she couldn’t stand at Emma’s table all day after all. “Fine. But you’re telling me later.”

Emma knew she wouldn’t be getting out of that one, but for now, she could go back to eavesdropping as Ruby went back to the bar.

The lords’ conversation had drifted away from taverns and onto some book or another, seemingly about philosophy. Apparently, Killian wasn’t the only one who enjoyed reading. Their discussion veered towards the treatment of the common people, and Emma did her best to catch every single word they said. It seemed they didn’t quite agree with the current taxation system, saying not enough money was spent on bettering living conditions in the lower-classes. Emma’s heart pounded in her chest - with the way the young lords were talking, she could definitely see them supporting David.

A lot of their opinions were based on books though; theories and musings of philosophers that Emma had never heard of. They didn’t seem to quite understand how bad things _truly_ were, and rather focused on how a poor distribution of welfare would only hurt the upper-class in the end, if the workers died too early. Perhaps that’s what Killian had meant when he said that taverns like Ruby’s were worth more support.

“We should probably be careful we don’t start sounding too much like Lord Gold, only worried about profit and continued profit,” Phillip said. Emma liked him a bit more for that comment.

“Everyone’s worried about profit,” Eric said.

There was a pause, and Emma turned an ear towards their table to be certain they weren’t mumbling about something. Then, Killian spoke. “There was another calling card from Gold on my father’s desk yesterday.” His voice was low, and Emma only just caught the words, although the disgust that laced them was clear.

“There’s been more and more lately, hasn’t there?” Phillip asked.

“Aye. And I still don’t know what the bloody hell is going on.”

“It might not be anything bad, you know,” Thomas said. “If they really were meeting about something horrible, wouldn’t your father make a better effort out of hiding all traces?”

“Possibly. Or perhaps he simply doesn’t realize how often I’m in his office.”

“Gold wouldn’t be foolish enough to send all those calling cards if it’s to do with wrongful business though. He’d have a more subtle approach,” Eric said.

“He’d just threaten anyone who’d dare say anything about them.” Emma knew Killian wasn’t exactly fond of balls or court, but she’d never before heard him speak with such animosity about anyone. Had something happened between him and Lord Gold?

“Wait until you know what’s going on for sure before you get your blood boiling.”

“Don’t worry, Thomas. When have you ever known me to do something rash?”

The lords all chuckled, and two tables away, Emma could sense the mood had been lightened.

“What about you, Phillip? Still don’t think you were too rash in proposing to Aurora?” Eric asked, changing the topic and surprising Emma. Phillip had proposed to Aurora? Why hadn’t she heard about it yet? Perhaps it happened after she had left the birthday - Emma hadn’t seen any of the ladies since then, after all.

“It was a bloody long time coming.”

“I think you’re right about that, Killian.” Emma could hear the smile in Phillip’s voice, and although she’d only known him and Aurora for less than a month, she agreed with Killian too. “And I still can’t believe she actually said yes, but I am beyond happy that she did.”

“So when are you going to announce it?” Thomas asked.

“Soon. Aurora’s mother wants to be sure when and where to throw the engagement party before letting the world know.”

Ah. So that’s why Emma hadn’t heard anything yet. She’d have to prepare her look of surprise in case Aurora told her in person.

“Just promise you won’t start thinking you’re too good for us once you’re married,” Eric said. “Sooner or later, Thomas would leave as well to be with Ella and I’d be stuck with Killian.”

Thomas fumbled with the right words to say that he and Ella probably wouldn’t get engaged in the near future, although it was clear that he definitely wouldn’t mind it. While Killian acted insulted, Phillip chuckled. “Who knows, Eric, maybe Killian actually will settle down someday. Lady Emma has certainly caught his eye.”

Emma had just been about to take a drink, but the cup stopped at her lips.

“I’d be a blind man if she hadn’t caught my eye, Phillip.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you looked at her at Aurora’s birthday - I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that before.”

Had Killian been looking at her? And not just because he thought she was... eye-catching? Although, apparently, he did think so. Warmth spread through her cheeks, but she blamed the ale and refused to acknowledge any happiness she might feel about the fact that Killian might... _like_ her.

“I wasn’t... she’s just... she’s interesting, alright? I enjoy her company.”

“You’re absolutely smitten, that’s what you are,” Phillip teased. Emma didn’t know what to do with herself, not even sure if she dared believed her own ears. And it shouldn’t matter anyway. She didn’t _like_ Killian. She couldn’t. He didn’t even know who she really was, for Pete’s sake!

“’Interesting’ seems a good choice of word though,” Eric said, and Emma was surprised she could even hear him over the thoughts running wild in her head.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s just something... I don’t know, I mean, I obviously don’t know her as well as you, Killian, but am I the only one who thinks she’s come somewhat out of the blue?”

“There are always new people arriving at court,” Killian said, taking on a defensive tone. Worry started to take root inside Emma at Eric’s words though.

“Yes, but I’ve never even heard of House Swan before.”

“I’d be surprised if you’d heard about every House in the Enchanted Forest,” Thomas said, and Emma hoped his argument would keep Eric - or anyone else - from digging deeper. “That being said, I do think it’s a bit odd she’s come alone - without any family, I mean.”

“Perhaps they didn’t have time,” Killian reasoned.

“Perhaps,” Eric repeated, although he sounded quite sceptical.

“The details of her presence may seem a bit odd, but Aurora and Ella have definitely taken a liken to her,” Phillip said. “It’s not just Killian.”

Emma would have like to have heard what was said after, but a group of people at another table nearby started laughing loudly, and then she noticed Ruby headed towards the lords’ table, asking if they needed anything. When the laughter died down and Ruby headed back to the bar, throwing a wink towards Emma, the conversation behind her had changed into a different topic.

For the next twenty minutes, nothing important was said, and Emma didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that her name was never mentioned again. Of course, she didn’t want them to suspect her of anything, and she shouldn’t want Killian to have any sort of feelings for her either, but the thought gave her a sense of thrill like no other.

Just as she thought they were starting to leave, Phillip had one last thing to discuss, his voice lowering. “I overheard the maids talking about something rather interesting this morning - apparently the physician Whale was seen headed for King George’s chambers in the middle of the night. None of them seemed to know why and I didn’t want them to know I’d overheard them by asking, but do you think he may have taken ill?”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Eric said. “But if the King has taken ill, we’re all likely to know of it sooner rather than later.”

**\----------**

Emma sat in her usual armchair, taking in everyone’s expressions after she had relayed the overheard information. Of course, she left certain things out, such as Killian’s possible crush on her. She still couldn’t work out how she felt about that - or perhaps, she couldn’t _admit_ how she felt about that.

“Well, a bedridden George seems like a good thing to me,” Will said, breaking the momentary silence.

“He may not be bedridden though,” Snow reasoned. “Maybe it was a false alarm or just a rumour.”

Emma looked at David, trying to guess his thoughts. Gears were certainly turning in his head, but when he didn’t say anything, Emma decided to ask the question that had been on her mind since that afternoon. “If he _is_ bedridden though, and ends up dying, who’s next in line? They’re not gonna put a four-year-old Prince James on the throne, are they?”

“They’ll appoint a regent,” Robin answered. “And whoever it is will rule until Prince James is old enough to become king.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Emma asked.

Snow was the one to answer, David still mulling over something. “The Great Houses; most of the leaders will probably want the title, and every member of a Great House will have a vote - King George has a vote too though, and whoever he chooses will probably be appointed.”

“Which means it’s likely to be Lord Gold.” Everyone turned to David, and Emma could tell this was the exact thing he’d been mulling over since Emma told them the news. She thought of the way Killian said Gold’s name, full of hatred and disgust. Phillip had called him a man who only cared for profit - the welfare of the common people meant nothing to him. If anything, he’d be a worse monarch than George, and Emma already knew that a lot of people saw Gold as the king’s right hand. David was right; Gold was a very likely candidate.

“Or Lord Jones,” Robin said, and Emma knew he meant Brennan. He and George were close too, after all.

David nodded absent-mindedly, then sighed. “Might as well be Lady Cora Mills too. None of them are favourable choices though.”

“We just gotta make sure people know you’re a choice too, then,” Will said. When everyone turned to him, he shrugged as if it were obvious. “They’ll have some assembly when they vote, right? We just gotta get you to that assembly, you can make your case, claim you’re the rightful heir and all that, and people will probably vote for you ‘cause you’re the easy choice. Better to choose the prince they always thought would become King than biting each other’s heads off to become regent.”

Emma tilted her head, somewhat agreeing with Will’s logic. From what she’d heard, David _was_ very well-liked. Well, before he got exiled and all that, of course.

“It seems a tad rash,” Robin said, and Emma had to agree with that as well.

“If the king’s dying, we don’t have much choice, do we?”

“We still don’t know if he’s dying,” Snow said. “We’ve heard a single rumour, that’s all. I’ll check with some informants, but let’s not make any plans until we know things for sure.”

“We should hope he’s not dying,” David said, surprising Emma. Will was surprised too, from the looks of it, and David explained, “you might be right Will, but if every great noble thinks they have a chance of gaining power, they might _not_ want to hand it over to an exiled prince. And if George is seriously ill, court is going to become a tense and dangerous place to be, which will make things much harder for Emma. You need to be able to talk to people to find out if they’ll support us,” he said, looking at Emma. “And if everyone is busy settling alliances amongst themselves, they won’t have time to worry about a young outsider like Lady Swan.”

“Then let’s hope the king’s alright for now,” Emma said, although it felt wrong to say so. She meant it though; she wanted to continue the job she was meant to do, even with all the danger and the confusing feelings that followed.

**\--------------**

By the time Emma was dressing up for the ball hosted by House Nostos, Snow had had the rumour confirmed by two different informants. Whale had indeed been called to George’s chambers in the middle of the night, but not a single person knew why.

Emma hoped she would hear more about it at the ball, but nothing much happened during the evening. She was invited to sit with some of the lesser nobles, after having danced with Sir August Booth. He was kind, as were his friends, but their conversation failed to interest her. Then there was the fact that August’s dark hair and blue eyes kept reminding her of someone else, and Emma knew she really shouldn’t be thinking of Lord Killian.

She’d seen him when August was leading her to the dance floor during the early evening. He’d been standing with Thomas, and his eyes met hers just briefly, but long enough for Emma’s stomach to flutter. She hadn’t seen him since the tavern; since she overheard that he might fancy her.

Since then, despite trying to focus on the conversation at August’s table, a part of her kept trying to spot Killian in the ballroom. For some reason, knowing where he was, if he was close - if he was looking her way - was incredibly addicting. Emma absolutely hated it.

Instead, she fooled herself into believing that she was looking to see if Aurora or Ella were around. She hadn’t seen either of them, but she’d seen both Phillip and Thomas. Maybe they were busy planning the engagement party that Emma wasn’t supposed to know about yet.

An hour until midnight, Emma had drifted on to another group of lesser nobles standing near the dance floor. Every muscle in her body ached and she longed for the armchair in the lounge room of the townhouse. House Nostos seemed more concerned with decorative statues, gold and fountains than comfortable chairs. Standing was almost more comfortable.

Just as she was getting lost in thought about the cocoa waiting for her at home - Snow had made it a ritual of sorts - Emma spotted Killian across the room. Her mood picked up a bit at that, but quickly fell again. Plummeted towards the ground, even. Killian was standing with a young, gorgeous brunette, both of them laughing. And standing awfully close to each other, Emma thought. Killian wasn’t even carrying any books.

She tried to tell herself it was nothing to be sad about. Killian could laugh with whomever he pleased - that girl was probably just a friend anyway. And if she was more than that, well, it was none of Emma’s business.

So what if Killian’s friends thought he had a crush on her. Killian shouldn’t mean anything to her, and although she knew denying that he meant _something_ was impossible, she could at least try to forget it. Sure, he was intriguing, as she had told Ruby. He made her laugh, and she could even make him laugh. He was easy to talk to, and definitely pleasing to look at, and he was passionate and loyal to his friends... Sure, he was nice, but he was also frustrating, Emma reminded herself. And he probably didn’t like her at all. She was just another girl to him. Maybe even just a means to spite his father, as David had implied.

The nobles around her laughed, and Emma faked a smile although she hadn’t heard a single word of the last minute’s conversation. She tore her eyes away from Killian and the brunette, knowing no good would come from staring at them. No good would come from being around Killian at all. He was nothing but trouble, and Emma had more than her heart to worry about now.

But Emma knew this wasn’t the first time she had told herself to stop thinking about Killian. And sadly, she expected it wouldn’t be the last.

**\---------------**

Emma slept rather terribly throughout the night, but dawn brought good news. Aurora had sent her not just one, but two letters. Both had Emma’s name written elegantly on the envelope, but one letter was much more formal than the other - it was an invitation to Aurora and Phillip’s engagement party.

Emma’s smile widened at the second letter; an invitation to go shopping with Aurora, Ella and Grace the next day. Emma didn’t know why the invitation made her so happy, she’d never actually gone shopping after all, and she should be scared that she’d make a fool out of herself. She _was_ scared, but apparently the joy about Aurora and Ella (and Grace) considering Emma a friend won over.

And so, Emma Swan - an adept thief - found herself on the cleanest streets of Misthaven, looking at dresses, fabrics, cosmetics and trinkets, with actual money in her purse.

They mostly talked of Aurora’s engagement and wedding (which was set to take place in the late summer). Emma made sure to sincerely congratulate Aurora, and she laughed when Ella said that she really should have placed that bet on Aurora and Phillip being married before the year was out.

“Speaking of bets,” Ella added, “the Prince’s tournament is this Sunday, right?”

“The Prince’s tournament?” Emma asked. No one had told her of any tournament, certainly not one five days from now.

The three ladies all turned to Emma with excited looks. “Oh, it will be so grand!” Aurora said. “In honour of Prince James’ fifth birthday, knights and lords will compete in a melee, and afterwards there shall be a most splendid feast at the royal palace!”

“Have you ever seen a tournament before, Emma?” Ella asked.

“No, I’ve never had the pleasure.”

In truth, she had tried to catch a glimpse of one many years ago, the excitement too much for her to withstand. But she had quickly learned that it was better to take advantage of the large crowds during tournaments and festivals – it made pickpocketing much easier.

“Lord Phillip and Lord Thomas are quite skilled,” Grace said, smirking at both Aurora and Ella.

“Yes, Lord Phillip won the jousting tournament last year.”

“That’s quite impressive,” Emma said, honestly. She knew better than to insult a lady’s fiancé.

“Sadly, he doesn’t think himself likely to do well in the melee,” Aurora said. “He’s always preferred the joust.”

“Lord Killian’s very talented with a sword though,” Ella said. “He nearly won the duelling tournament last year.”

Once again, Emma found herself having to be very wary of her expression. Aurora and Ella often sent looks her way whenever Killian was mentioned, and she was afraid they’d guessed that Emma had a... had certain, confusing thoughts where Killian was concerned.

Knowing that he was a skilled swordsman just reminded her of how she’d called him a pirate though.

“Who _did_ win?”

“Sir Lancelot, one of the royal knights,” Aurora answered. “It was quite the exciting finale, but I do think the better man won.”

As the ladies continued talking of past tournaments, they looked at displays in the windows, fawning over a dress or a set of ribbons. Emma just went along with it, having already bought a bottle of perfume that she didn’t need, which was being carried by Robin.

At the corner of a street, the door to a store opened, and Emma was quite surprised to see who walked down the steps and onto the street.

“Mr. Scarlett!” she greeted. It was okay for a lady to greet her coachman when they met unexpectedly, right?

“Lady Emma,” Will bowed his head, though not before she caught the twinkle in his eyes.

Emma didn’t stop to exchange further words, and when her friends turned to her with questioning looks, she quickly explained that he was her coachman. They all nodded in understanding, and as they walked down the street, Emma couldn’t help but look over her shoulder to see which store Will had been to.

The answer surprised her, to say the least. Will didn’t exactly strike her as a book-loving type, he was rather the sort of person you’d expect to find in a tavern or out and about with friends. So why on earth had he been visiting a place called _Maurice’s Bookstore_?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's the tournament!!


	6. The Tournament

Everyone cheered as the knights and young lords paraded through the tournament ground. Obviously, Emma partook in the more modest cheer of the noblewomen around her. On some of the other stands, common people roared, clapped and whistled, all of them happy for the chance to see the melee. They were packed tightly together though, and Emma felt guilty for the spacious cushioned bench at her disposal.

The sky was more grey than blue, but a few knights had told Emma that cloudy weather was much better than sunny skies for a tournament. As long as it didn’t rain. She supposed it could get rather hot under all of that armour, although it did look rather impressive as the contenders walked through the field.

The tournament was only open for knights and lords of Misthaven. Most of the contenders were knights, though young lords often wished to prove their skill as well, or simply liked the thrill of the sport. Emma supposed Killian was one of the latter. She hadn’t spotted him yet, but she’d seen Eric and Thomas with their respective teams. Ella, sitting beside her, had clapped more earnestly when Thomas passed them, and he’d sent a wide smile her way.

When the twelfth team entered the field, Emma immediately spotted Killian. His armour was lighter than most, allowing more dexterity on behalf of protection. Emma found it quite fitting for his character. As was the black colour of his team. But she was almost surprised to see him in something else than that black leather coat of his.

They hadn’t spoken much since Aurora’s birthday over a week ago, and Emma didn’t know if it was her avoiding him or him avoiding her. She was glad for it though. Whenever they were near each other, she’d feel her ears turn red as she thought of what she’d overheard his friends say at Ruby’s tavern. But then she’d remember the sight of him laughing and looking rather friendly with another lady, plus the fact that having any feelings for Killian wouldn’t help David. On the contrary, actually.

It didn’t hurt anyone if she secretly let herself admire the sight of him in armour though.

When the sixteenth and last team had entered the field, and all of them stood in squares, facing the ladies and the judges, King George stood up in front of them.

“Welcome!” His voice carried throughout the ground, strong and clear.

It was Emma's first time ever seeing the King or hearing him speak, and someone may as well have poured a bucket of ice over her. This was the man she had resented from afar for so long. The man who had exiled David, and the reason why Emma was even pretending to be a noblewoman. She had always envisioned him old, fat and greedy, but there he stood, a strong man like any other. And he didn’t look ill in the slightest.

He did, however, somewhat resemble David, Emma thought. She could only see him from the side, and he stood about twelve metres away from her, but his nose looked familiar. It gave her even more faith in David’s belief that George truly was his father.

“It pleases me to see you all here in celebration of my son Prince James’ fifth birthday,” George continued. “In a few years he will fight amongst you, but for now, may the best men win!”

Everyone clapped and cheered again as George stepped back from the fence, taking his seat beside an excited Prince James. Emma could only just see them, the small box around them obscuring her view. She wondered if the king’s opening speech was always so short, or if it may be a hint towards George actually being ill, as rumours suggested.

The herald stepped forth to announce the rules of the tournament, and Emma scanned the teams once again. A spark went through her when her eyes connected with Killian’s. He sent her a smile from across the grounds, but Emma forced herself to look away. The smile probably hadn’t been meant for her anyway; she was literally surrounded by beautiful ladies.

“...a fighter who touches the ground with a third point of support is out of battle, and the team with the last man standing wins. The team with most victories out of three proceeds to the next round, while the other is eliminated...” The herald went on to announce the first two battling teams, allowing the others to leave for their tents outside of the field and away from view. The order of the first eight battles had already been revealed, so the fighters knew when to be ready.

Sir August, clad in purple, was in the first fight, Emma noticed, just before he put on his helmet. She recognized a few others, though none she’d actually spoken with, so when the teams charged against each other, she was rooting for August.

Fourteen fighters on each side ran with weapons and shields raised as the commoners cheered wildly. Neither Emma or _Lady_ Emma had ever seen a real tournament, and before the first steel clashed, she was on the edge of her seat, too excited to even think of clapping.

The lines met in the middle.

In a flash, fighters had swung their swords or maces while others had lifted their shields. Emma dared not blink. A few fell quickly, and in a matter of seconds, fighters were scattered across the field in smaller groups. She’d already lost track of August, and she scarcely knew where to look, there was so much going on. Most of the standing men wore purple, meaning August’s team was in the lead at least.

Emma noticed him then, near the far side list with a comrade, two against one. The opponent held his ground, swinging his mace as much as ducking behind his shield. A teammate was by his side in seconds, but August felled him before he could pose a threat, and the other contender was on the ground soon after.

Emma looked at the rest of the field, surprised to see that almost every light-blue fighter had fallen while she was focused on August. She only just got to see the last of them knocked down. In less than three minutes, the purple team had won.

Emma leaned back again, almost out of breath.

“It’s exhilarating, isn’t it?” Ella asked beside her with a smile.

Emma let out a laugh and nodded in agreement. “Absolutely.”

All the fighters got up again, and the teams swapped sides after confirming none had been seriously injured. From what Emma had heard, there were seldom any serious injuries, but almost every knight and lord would go home heavily bruised; some with a few cracked ribs, twisted or sprained joints or perhaps a concussion. It had been two years since the last fatality in a tournament, and they were few and far between.

The second battle started, and almost quicker than before, the light-blue fighters were all on the ground. As such, the purple team - meaning August - was on to the next round of the tournament.

The fighters left the field, off to bemoan their defeat or see to their bruises in the tents on the other side of the stands. Two new teams entered, and Emma spotted Phillip in red colours. Fittingly, Aurora had adorned her hair with red roses and wore a shawl of the same colour over her shoulders.

Even with Ella in between them, Emma could sense Aurora’s apprehension. She clenched the skirt of her dress in her hands, no doubt keeping an unwavering eye on her fiancé. Emma even started to feel nervous on her behalf.

Before Phillip shut the visor of his helmet, he waved at Aurora, a wave that was eagerly returned. Then his face disappeared behind metal, and Emma could easily imagine the thoughts running through his head as he faced the rivalling team. She’d never worn a helmet like his before, but the thin slits of vision along with one’s own breath echoing against the metal must be effective in gathering concentration. Or panic.

The horn sounded, and the fighters were off. In a flash, steel met steel, and Emma kept an eye on Phillip and his sword. He was skilled, for sure. His first opponent fell within seconds, and then he turned to help one of his comrades.

Nine minutes later, three battles had been fought, and Phillip’s team came out victorious. He sent a large smile Aurora’s way, and she clapped heartedly, proud of her husband-to-be (and no doubt happy he hadn’t sustained any injuries).

For the next couple of fights, Emma spotted a few lords she’d seen or talked to before. Eric and Thomas, each on their own team, passed on to the second round with Phillip and August. Ella and Aurora were excited to see both of their suitors victorious, but Emma couldn’t help but think what might happen if Phillip and Thomas had to fight against each other. It was, after all, a very real possibility.

In between some of the fights, servants walked the rows of the ladies’ stands with serving trays in their hands, allowing the women to sip on cool white wine. Just as the seventh fight began, Emma placed her empty glass on an empty tray. She knew Killian would either be in this fight or the next (the little voice inside her wouldn’t let her forget it).

The herald announced the next teams to compete, and Emma’s heartbeat picked up as “black” was yelled across the grounds. A mere minute later, Killian swaggered through the gates. He held his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, and a helmet in the other. He carried no shield, though his sword seemed too light to be two-handed. Emma wondered if it might even be a cutlass. She wasn’t an expert on swords, but cutlasses were favourable amongst sailors, she knew - and pirates.

Killian leaned over to say something to one of his comrades. Obviously, Emma couldn't hear the words from across the field, nor could she read his lips. And she had no business looking at his lips anyways. Or how well his armour fit him.

In no time at all, Killian slid his helmet over his head. The fighters all lined up against their respective walls, and Emma felt more nervous than she had during any of the previous fights. Ella had said Killian was quite talented with a sword, so Emma had nothing to fear, she knew. Either way, Killian's well-being shouldn't be of her concern.

That didn't stop her from worrying.

The herald counted down, and the horn was blown. Killian, in lighter armour than most, charged ahead at lightning speed. Just as he neared the rivalling team, he drew his sword in one fluid motion, clashing it against a foe's longsword. Killian's sword did indeed look like a cutlass, and Emma would have smiled if she wasn't so focused on the fight.

Emma had once told David that dancing was nothing like fighting, but looking at Killian, she almost disagreed with herself. He spun around, adding a bit more flourish to his moves than what was necessary, his feet secure no matter how quickly he stepped from foe to foe. He seemed to have eyes everywhere, never caught unaware by a sword or mace striking towards him.

He was absolutely amazing.

Emma gripped the edge of her seat, her fingertips digging into the wood of the bench. Killian darted around the field, somehow finding the perfect weak spots in every contender he faced. His sense of balance was unparalleled, and while Emma was amazed, she was also slightly jealous. If she had had Killian’s balance, that city guard wouldn’t have been able to get the upper-hand all those weeks ago.

Two minutes after the horn had been blown, only fighters dressed in black were still standing, Killian amongst them of course. Emma's shoulders fell as she realized how tense they'd become.

The fighters switched sides, and she eagerly awaited seeing Killian in action again. He had always been nice to look at, but seeing him fight was mesmerizing. He didn't fight like the other nobles. He didn't just storm ahead like a bull, relying on strength alone. And although he moved around a lot, Emma had the feeling every slight step, every flick of his wrist was calculated and precisely executed. In short, he definitely knew what he was doing. Not even Emma could deny the allure of his skill. She even wondered what it might be like to fight against him - or alongside him.

The horn sounded again.

This time, Emma tried to refrain from just sitting in awe. She studied Killian's movements closer, or well, as close as she could from her vantage. If she could learn anything from his talents, she damned well intended to.

Killian ducked under the swing of a foe's mace. A shield bashed towards him, but he spun away from the blow just in time, shoving his contender in a continuation of his twirl. With a final sweep of the pommel of his sword, Killian's opponent lost his balance and fell.

A minute later, Killian's team once again stood triumphant. He sheathed his sword and took off his helmet. His fringe was plastered to his forehead, but with a shake of his head and a hand run through his hair, Killian faced the ladies' stands with a ragged grin. Emma did not at all feel the effect of his grin between her shoulder blades.

When Killian left the field with the other fighters, after waving at the common people as well, Emma bit her lip.

He was just too stupidly handsome and charming for her to deny the feelings he stirred inside her. She could lie and say it was just a natural attraction (because who on earth _wouldn’t_ be attracted to him?), but the way she enjoyed his company or just his laugh went beyond mere attraction. She... she _liked_ him.

Emma's head spun towards Ella and Aurora as if fearing they might have read her mind. What would they think of her if they knew about the crush she'd just admitted to herself? Would they laugh at her? Pity her? Regina had certainly made it clear that any girl like Emma shouldn't get her hopes up in regards to a lord like Killian.

But Emma wasn't getting her hopes up. She was under no illusion that anything could ever happen to her and Killian. She didn't even need anything to happen. Sure, she had a crush on him - a minor crush - but it didn't have to be acted upon. She could keep it to herself, admire him from afar and enjoy the few moments when he was close. No harm could come from that. Right?

**\------------**

After the first round of the tournament, a short break allowed the ladies to stretch their legs - and the bruised fighters to catch their breaths. Aurora and Ella insisted on finding Phillip and Thomas by their tents to congratulate them. Emma decided to stay behind, claiming she needed some cool water for her head. With a glass of said water in her hand, given to her by an unknown servant, Emma tried to catch a better glimpse of the king and his son.

From what she could hear, James wanted to visit the knights, but George denied him the excitement, telling him to stay put. Emma heard a governess telling the young prince not to bother his father, and to look at the jesters on the field instead. As they finished a particularly difficult juggling trick, the common audience cheered and whistled, while a few of the ladies still seated on the stands gently clapped their hands.

With the king out of sight and out of earshot, Emma looked across the field instead. The young girl in her wanted to look at the jesters, but the people were more important now. They had been standing, crammed tightly together for an hour, and dared not leave until the tournament was over, lest they couldn’t reclaim their spot. Yet they laughed and cheered, seeming to have the time of their lives. They probably were, too.

Emma had never even dreamed of seeing a tournament with her own eyes. She never thought it possible. In the same way, those people across from her now probably couldn’t even imagine what it might be like to sit down and enjoy the show. They knew it wasn’t possible, so they rejoiced over what they had.

Emma looked down at her glass of water, knowing her train of thought wasn’t just about the right to sit down and watch a tournament. It wasn’t even just about the right to _compete_ in the tournament, of noble birth or not. It was about having rights to simply be human; to have enough pennies in your pockets after a day of hard labour, so you didn’t have to choose between eating and having a roof over your head, and getting to enjoy life.

Working for David, helping his cause, had given Emma a taste of what it could be like to enjoy life, to relax and be entertained, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Developing a crush probably wasn’t the right thing to do. Honestly, that was the real reason she stayed behind on the stands; not because she needed water, or wanted to eavesdrop on the king. No, she merely wanted to avoid the possibility of running into Lord Killian Jones.

Soon, Ella, Aurora, and the rest of the ladies who had ventured towards the tents returned to the stands. Thomas’ team went against August’s, with the latter coming out victorious. Ella didn’t seem disappointed though - she was simply happy Thomas was alright.

Phillip earned his way on to the third round - the semi-finals - and then Eric’s team was called to fight. Against Killian’s team.

How did the friends handle fighting against each other? Of course, it was just a friendly fight, and as Killian rakishly waved at Eric on the opposite side of the field, Emma supposed the friends took it rather well. Eric’s returned hand gesture may as well have been a “fuck you”, but it was all in good humour. And when Killian’s team won, the two friends pulled each other into a handshake-turned-hug on the side of the tournament field.

The break between the second and third round of the tournament wasn’t as long. All the ladies stayed behind to watch the jesters dance around with fire. The women were all enthralled by the display, reminding Emma of the amateur jesters on the streets, capturing an audience’s attention while a pick-pocket sneaked around undetected. Emma had almost gotten a beating once for taking advantage of some other thieves’ show, but she’d been too quick for them to catch her. It had earned meals for a week, and it wasn’t the last time she took advantage of such a situation.

_What would happen if I started pilfering jewellery off the women here?_ Emma wondered, her fingers almost itching to try. Old habits and all that, she supposed.

The third round began, starting this time with Phillip’s team against August’s. The fights lasted for much longer than any they’d previously seen, both teams fighting valiantly. Each won a battle, and as the third and final began, everyone was leaning forward in their seats (or on their feet).

The horn sounded and the men charged forwards, all of them eager to make it to the finale. Phillip wielded his sword and shield expertly, fighting hard until the very last. He was the last man standing on his team, facing three opponents alone. Just as he knocked the first one down, a second took the opportunity to disturb Phillip’s balance. He fell, and his opponents made sure he fell all the way, with his back on the ground.

Aurora gasped while the herald announced the winner. For a second, Emma, too, feared that Phillip’s fall had been too brutal, but as everyone got up from the ground, he got up as well. Though aching, he didn’t seem to have gained any severe injuries. Emma was sure Aurora would be visiting his tent during the break between the second semi-final and the finale though.

Before that break could come, Killian had to enter the field once more. He faced a team on which Ella’s cousin fought, and obviously, Ella and Aurora would rather root for him than Killian. So when the black team won after three close battles, Emma clapped to appear polite like her friends, but truly, she was happy for Killian. And glad she’d get to see him in action one last time.

Ella and Aurora insisted she accompany them to the tents. “I’m sure you won’t mind seeing the knights up close,” Ella said, all but winking at her.

As they neared Phillip’s tent, Aurora picked up her speed until she could throw her arms around her fiancé. “You were amazing!”

Emma noticed his wince upon impact, but he chuckled and hugged Aurora back. “We lost, sweetheart. I’m not sure if that’s amazing.”

“You lost to a better team - that doesn’t make you any less amazing,” Aurora said, letting go of Phillip, but not before leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“At least you made it further than Eric and I,” Thomas said, having made his way towards Phillip’s tent as soon as he spotted the ladies.

“You fought very well, Lord Thomas,” Ella said, a shy but proud smile on her lips.

Thomas’ ears gained a faint red tint as he returned Ella’s smile. “I’m glad you think so, Lady Ella.”

Still in the early stages of their courtship (but both of them eager to proceed, no doubt), Ella and Thomas’ exchanges in public were always a tad awkward to watch. Emma just hoped her crush on Killian wasn’t so obvious.

Aurora started fussing over Phillip’s scrapes and bruises, especially worried about his back. He did his best to calm her down, reassuring her that he’d be fine in a few days. _“I’ll just have to ask for extra pillows these next couple of nights.”_

“So, who do you think will win?” Ella asked no one in particular.

“The purple knights are rather competent, I can attest to that,” Phillip said, jokingly. “But Killian’s team is quite strong from what I’ve heard. And we all know Killian’s the best swordsman of us four.”

“Careful he doesn’t hear you say that,” Aurora said. “He might not be able to fit his helmet afterwards.”

They all chuckled, and made a few more teasing comments about Killian’s skill. Admiration lay underneath every comment though (at least from Phillip and Thomas). Emma kept silent, smiling and laughing when the others did, but she really had nothing to offer to the conversation. She rarely did, but Aurora and Ella never seemed to mind her tagging along.

Just as the ladies were on their way back to the stands, a familiar voice called out for Lady Emma. All three of them turned to see Sir August a few paces away, tightening the brace on his left arm.

“Sir August,” Emma greeted him in kind. “Congratulations on the victories so far.”

“Thank you, Lady Emma,” he said, walking towards her. From the corner of her eye, Emma saw Aurora and Ella exchange looks before turning to her with sly smiles. They both nodded at Sir August, and then left Emma alone with him. Emma would have expected that sort of behaviour from Ruby (she had actually been left alone with numerous men at the tavern, after receiving a wink from her so-called friend), but apparently ladies at court were just as good at leaving their friends alone with potential suitors.

“I trust you’ve enjoyed the tournament thus far?” August asked.

“I have. It’s a shame it’ll be over soon.”

“Yes, it seems we’ve only just started. On the other hand, the tournaments that last for days are always much more tiring.”

“I can imagine,” Emma said, sharing his soft smile. Her feet were itching to turn away from him though, and follow Aurora and Ella towards the stands. Not that August wasn’t kind or handsome, he just... he just wasn’t the man she wanted to stand alone with, shielded from view on each side by the backs of several tents. “But I should leave you to prepare for the finale. And make sure I get back to my seat before it begins.”

“Of course. You’ll see me there in a few minutes.”

Emma smiled, turning away. “Good luck, Sir August.”

After a few steps, she looked over her shoulder to be sure that he wasn’t watching her leave. Something about the idea just didn’t sit right with her. Luckily, no one was looking her way.

“Fraternizing with the enemy, Swan?”

Emma all but gasped at the sudden voice. Only one noble had ever called her Swan sans her title, and she spun around to meet the owner of the lilting voice she’d come to know all too well.

“He may be your enemy, Lord Killian, but I don’t remember saying he was mine.”

Emma silently cheered at her own composure. Especially because facing Killian up close in his armour swept with black cloth and his hair sticking out in all directions was something she was entirely unprepared for.

“Are you implying your support lies with the purple and not the black?” Killian asked, acting as if the very idea hurt his entire being.

Idiot.

“Who says my support has to lie with either?”

“Me, of course,” Killian said, a shit-eating grin lighting up his face. Why the hell was he the man Emma’s heart decided to harbour a crush on? “And as the one to inform you of that fact, I think it only fair that your wish of good luck falls on me and my team.”

“Fine. Good luck, Lord Killian,” Emma said wryly, and continued on her way towards the stands.

She didn’t make it two steps.

“Now that hardly seemed genuine, love. One more time, and I might believe you.”

“Do you want me to tie my handkerchief on your sword while I’m at it?” she asked, sarcastically. It was a good thing no one was around, all of the knights and lords on the other sides of the tents surrounding her and Killian.

He looked surprised at the meritless offer, but not at all unpleased. “If you’re willing to part with your handkerchief, I wouldn’t be averse to it.”

“I think I’ll hold onto it for a bit longer.”

“As you wish,” Killian smiled. “But how about a kiss then? A kiss for good luck?”

The request surprised her at first, especially when she realized how close they’d come to stand. But the twinkle in his eyes let her know he didn’t mean it. As always, he was just teasing her.

Emma rolled her eyes at him. She didn’t stop herself from stepping onto her toes though. She didn’t stop her eyes from quickly darting around the area. And she didn’t stop herself from giving him that kiss.

His cheek was soft underneath her lips, a faint smell of sweat clinging to him. Her body was nearly lined with his, and she was sorely tempted to press herself closer to him. But in less than a second, she pulled away. She was toeing a very thin line here, and surely Killian’s sharp intake of breath was something she had imagined.

Her heels back on the ground, Killian still so enticingly close to her, Emma wondered if it had even happened at all. Had she really just kissed Killian’s cheek? What the hell was she doing?

Killian’s eyes were trained on hers, surprise evident, as well as something darker. Something heavier that Emma had no business dwelling on.

“Good luck, Killian.” She turned and walked away, amazed that her voice had been more than a whisper. Proud that she could walk straight with her head high when inside she was starting to panic. Only then did she realize she’d also failed to acknowledge his title. She’d just called him Killian.

She had kissed the cheek of a very powerful heir apparent, and then she’d just called him Killian.

_Dammit, Emma_.

She wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing when upon her return to the stands, Ella and Aurora only had questions about August. She barely heard them though, the feel of Killian’s skin still a ghost against her lips.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

**\---------**

Killian hadn’t really expected her to kiss him. Not even on the cheek. He wouldn’t deny, seeing Emma with Sir August during balls and now amongst the tents, made his stomach turn with jealousy. Jealousy he had no right to feel. But goading her into a kiss was a bloody mistake on his part. He knew it the moment her lips touched his cheek, and as much as he hated himself for having requested a kiss, he wouldn’t ever regret feeling her mouth on his skin. The problem was, he craved more of it, even before she had pulled away.

_Bloody hell_. He was supposed to win a finale, how could he do that with his cheek burning where she’d kissed him, his mind swirling with images of the beauty that was Emma Swan?

How could one innocent kiss turn him into a ruddy schoolboy?

Killian clenched his jaw and the hand around the hilt of his sword. He’d just have to put Emma from his mind, focus on the fight and deal with everything afterwards. Preferably with a mouthful of rum.

As soon as he entered the tournament field, the crowd roaring, Killian adorned his carefully constructed mask of confidence. He bowed and waved at the audience, both the commoners and the ladies. The noblemen and the king weren’t of interest, although he did give the little prince a wink. It wasn’t his fault he had a terrible man for a father.

Each team lined up against their respective walls, and Killian took a good luck at his fourteen opponents. Seeing Sir August made him scowl, but he tried not to dwell on it. Being jealous of August only reminded him of Emma, and he really shouldn’t be thinking of her, least of all when he was about to face fourteen drawn weapons.

As the herald finished off his speech, saying that the first team to win three battles was the winner, Killian slid his helmet over his head. He rolled his shoulders, the metal plates covering them giving way to the movement. His chain-mail was wrapped tight to his body with the black cloth of his team, and the braces on his arms were like a second skin.

The herald began his countdown. Killian took a deep breath, readying his hand at the hilt of his cutlass.

The horn blew.

Just like in the past rounds, Killian was moving forwards while the sound of the horn still lingered in his ears. He drew his sword, but instead of meeting his opponent, Sir Felix, head-on, he stopped just in time, luring the knight in instead, but with a shaky balance. Felix’ sword wavered in his hand when it met Killian’s cutlass, and with a few simple manoeuvres, the young knight was on the ground.

Killian stepped to the side, dodging the shield of his next opponent. The roars of the audience and the clash of steel rung in his ears along with the yells and grunts of his comrades and rivals. It meant nothing though. It was just a faint buzz as Killian lost himself in the fight.

He relished the feel of swinging his sword. Stepping forth and back, from side to side, evading blows and stray blades gave him a thrill unlike most things he’d ever tried. See, _this_ was a dance he was willing to participate in. A dance where all that mattered was this moment and the next - afterwards, all that mattered was who won and who lost.

And Killian bloody well intended to win.

With one final knock of his shoulder against another lord, the first round of the final was over. A teammate clapped Killian on the back, although they knew they couldn’t celebrate yet. They still had two battles to win.

The second round went terribly though. A few too many of the black fighters made foolish mistakes, losing their balance and leaving their comrades with too many foes to fight at once. At least Killian could pride himself with being one of the last to fall, facing four knights on his own.

That Sir Walsh was a bit of a nuisance. Killian took pleasure in felling him during the third round, won by the black team.

The fourth round began, and everyone knew this could be the last. If the black team won, they’d have three victories against one.

Killian’s left wrist ached. He’d landed awkwardly on it when he fell, but he doubted it was anything serious. It wasn’t worth distracting him either way. He ran forth with the others when the horn blew, sword at the ready, ignoring anything and everything else than the fight ahead of him.

Of course, he ended up crossing swords with Sir August. So far, he’d avoided it, thinking his unwarranted jealousy of the man would overcloud his judgement. Now though, Killian didn’t care. In fact, he took great joy in fighting the knight.

August was skilled, there was no denying it. He had a good grip, secure footing, a well-practised blocking technique. But he lacked an element of surprise. Killian easily predicted every move, the fight almost becoming boring after half a minute.

Now, that just wouldn’t do.

Liam had always said Killian was a show-off when it came to fighting. He warned him that arrogance didn’t make a skilled swordsman, that technique was more important than impressive moves. But Killian had climbed the ranks to lieutenant, he’d been trained well by the academy, though more importantly, by his brother. He could allow himself to show a bit off now.

In a manoeuvre Killian had only practised before, he curled the tip of his cutlass near August’s sword-hilt. The knight had a good grip, indeed, but just as he lacked an element of surprise, he lacked the imagination to predict what Killian might do. And that vital thing, that element of surprise, allowed Killian to loosen August’s grip on the hilt, his sword swinging out of his hands and landing metres away.

August stood, shocked and unarmed.

Liam had been right though; arrogance was a dangerous thing. For in the split second Killian allowed himself to take pride in the successful disarmament, Sir Walsh swooped towards his side. His left side.

Killian barrelled forward in an attempt to knock August down while evading Walsh’s blade. It only half-worked. August’s balance wavered enough for one of Killian’s mates to knock him the rest of the way down, just in time. But Walsh’s blade still caught Killian, just underneath his armpit.

Just underneath one of Killian’s weakest spots.

And Walsh’s sword, though blunt like everyone else’s, had a rather pointy end.

The anger towards Walsh for nearly having injured him, quite severely at that, fuelled Killian. With a roar, he swung his sword against Walsh’s, removing the blade from his side. A purple-clad lord came to Walsh’s aid, but Killian’s mate distracted him, leaving Killian to focus solely on the knight in front of him.

Walsh had a shield in one hand, but the sheer force of Killian’s blows caused him to drop it. A few seconds later, in a fight that Killian would only remember in flashes afterwards, just like any other fight, Walsh joined his shield on the ground.

The horn blew. Killian looked around, seeing only his comrades on their feet.

They’d won.

The audience cheered, and the herald shouted victory for the black team. Killian spared a single look at Walsh slowly getting up from the ground, before turning to his teammates. Pulling the helmet off his head, he reached his comrades and they all clapped each other on the shoulders or pulled each other into hugs. They all came from different houses, and hadn’t fought together as a team before the teams had been announced a week ago, but together, they’d won the tournament.

Killian turned to the commoners’ stands, gifting them with elaborate bows. His wrist still ached, along with some other bruises here and there, but it mattered not. The pain was almost welcome, actually.

He turned to the ladies’ stands, and immediately, his eyes fell on her. She was smiling and clapping, and _bloody hell_ , she was beautiful. And she was clapping for him.

Somehow, Lady Emma Swan had gotten under his skin, and Killian couldn’t stop the wide grin on his face at the thought that maybe, _maybe_ , he’d made as much of an impact on her as she had on him.

**\--------------**

Emma had never been inside the palace grounds before. A thief she may be, but she wasn’t that ambitious. After having visited numerous keeps and ballrooms over the past month though, she wasn’t sure if anything could amaze her quite like her very first ball.

She was wrong.

The King’s palace was unlike anything else, so huge Emma couldn’t imagine _not_ getting lost in the corridors. Fortunately, she only had to concern herself with the ballroom. One of the _four_ ballrooms King George had at his disposal. This one was the second-largest, with an adjacent, smaller room where people (mainly the men) could sit in a quieter setting and discuss politics or business over a game of cards.

The king and his son sat by a table on a dais overlooking the larger ballroom. The winners of the tournament - the black team - sat at two long adjoining tables, forming a horseshoe with George at the centre. Killian, having won the title of the best fighter, had an honorary spot nearest the Prince. The ball was in celebration of James’ fifth birthday after all.

It irked Emma to see Killian so close to the king though. He had not sounded fond of the current system and taxations in place when he spoke with his friends in Ruby’s tavern, but what were his thoughts of King George?

Toasts were made for Prince James, and one for Killian as well. Emma couldn’t see him from where she stood, but she wondered what was going through his head when people raised their glasses to his name. He hated balls - how did he fancy being an honorary guest at one?

She ran into Sir August at one point, politely praising him for the close fight. But as soon as the opportunity arose to slip away, she took it. If she really had been a noblewoman, Sir August would probably have been the perfect match. Only a knight, he wasn’t far above her own station, and he was nice enough. And somewhat handsome. Most of all, he was much more attainable than Lord Killian.

But Emma wasn’t a noblewoman, and she wasn’t actually on the hunt for a husband. She was on the hunt for rumours and information, and that’s why she found herself standing with Lady Zelena’s group of ladies. The younger Mills sister was probably the biggest gossip at court, and obviously, Emma knew not to believe everything she heard, but rumours were always useful, true or not. After all, for some reason, someone had decided to spread them. And there would always be people who believed them.

The conversation mainly centred around the day’s tournament. Zelena had loads of things to say about the teams and the different knights and lords. She mentioned the knight who had died in the melee two years ago by accident, and she almost seemed upset that no juicy injuries had happened today.

“Anything can happen in a tournament,” she said, a gleam in her eyes. “It’s where the knives come out from under the ballroom tables and turn into swords and shields.” She looked directly at Emma as she spoke, causing an uneasy feeling to turn in her stomach. What exactly was Zelena implying?

The Mills sister’s eyes then flickered towards the dais, _towards Killian_. Emma pretended not to notice. She played naïve, unwilling to let Zelena know that her words bothered her.

Five minutes later, Emma excused herself to have her glass refilled. She didn’t return to Zelena’s group, however, instead finding a moment’s peace on an outdoor balcony.

Plants hid her from view, leaving Emma with a rare sense of tranquillity. Beyond the great palace walls, she could see most of Misthaven, lanterns lit on the streets close to the palace, and smoke rising from several chimneys.

“Mind if I join you?”

Emma turned to see Killian standing by the plants which hid the door to the balcony. Of all the people who could have disturbed her, Killian was both the one she wanted least and the one she wanted most.

“Don’t tell me this is another of your favourite balcony spots.”

Killian laughed, stepping closer towards her and crossing his arms over the railing. “No, but it is a rather good spot, isn’t it? A mite cold perhaps.”

The sun hadn’t made much of an appearance the entire day, and now that night had fallen, it really was a bit chilly. It was only spring after all.

Emma shrugged. “It’s a nice respite from the heat of the ballroom, I think.”

“Aye, it is.”

Silence stretched between them, both of them looking out at the city below. Emma did her best not to think of the kiss, and the best way to do that, it seemed, was to tease Killian. “So, how does it feel to be an honorary guest at a ball?”

“It’s bloody awful, Swan. I can’t read!”

Emma laughed at his overly aghast expression. And because, well, he was an idiot.

“It’s bad form to laugh at a man’s pain, lass,” Killian warned.

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Killian turned to face her fully. “I’ll have you know, if I succumb to this evening’s torture, I’m blaming you.”

“Me?”

“Aye. If it weren’t for that good luck kiss, we wouldn’t have won, and I certainly wouldn’t have won the title of best fighter.”

“Please,” Emma all but rolled her eyes. “You were handling your sword quite well before I wished you good luck.”

“But we’ll never know how well I would’ve handled it without your kiss of good fortune.” His eyes flickered to her lips, just for a second, and Emma tried to convince herself it was just her imagination.

“I’m sure your team would have won anyways, Lord Killian. Although I’m honestly not quite sure why they named you the best fighter. With that cutlass and those moves, you were more like a pirate than a gallant knight.”

Killian smirked, obviously fond of the way she kept comparing him to a pirate. What would he say if he discovered she was actually a thief herself?

“Keeping a close eye on me, were you?”

Or perhaps that was why he was smirking.

The blush on her cheeks was a long time coming, but Emma refused to let Killian get the better of her. “It was impossible not to, what with your twirling all over the field. And here I thought you didn’t like dancing.”

“Trust me, Swan, I’ve faced worse injuries on the dance floor than I have in battle.”

Emma chuckled, and if she hadn’t averted her eyes, she would’ve seen Killian’s face light up at the accomplishment.

“And so you hide behind books whenever a dance floor is near?” she teased.

“Aye - but you’ve robbed me of that armour tonight. An honorary guest can’t be seen reading, much as I’d like to do it anyways.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have given you that kiss for good luck then,” Emma said, because her mind just wouldn’t let go of the feel of his skin underneath her lips, and for some reason, her brain thought that talking about it would make it better.

“Or perhaps you should give me another kiss to make this torture worthwhile. You’ve stolen my armour after all.”

Emma could tell he didn’t mean it. Just like he hadn’t actually meant for her to give him a kiss of good luck. She’d done it anyways then, and now...

To hell with it. She was going to do it. She could always blame her choice on the multiple glasses of wine she’d drunken.

Emma leaned in, and she could’ve sworn he was doing the same, when -

“Killian!”

They jumped apart as Phillip came through the door of the balcony. “There you are, Killian! Oh, and Lady Emma,” he bowed. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too, Lord Phillip,” Emma said, hoping Phillip didn’t realize what he’d just interrupted.

Killian cleared his throat, and if Emma had dared look his way, she would’ve seen his ears tinted red. “Everything alright, Phillip?”

“Yes; Eric, Thomas and I just wanted to give you a toast for being an insufferable git who managed to win over the lot of us.”

Killian chuckled, though Emma could tell it was half-forced. “Aye, I’ll be right in then.”

“I was just about to head indoors anyways,” Emma quickly said, needing to put as much distance between her and Killian as soon as possible. She politely (though quickly) bade the gentlemen a good evening before slipping through the balcony doors, her heart pounding in her chest.

They’d nearly kissed before, on the beach at Aurora’s birthday. She’d kissed his cheek during the tournament. Now they’d almost kissed again, and Emma was getting in way over her head.

_“You’ve stolen my armour after all.”_

Killian wasn’t meant for her, and she wasn’t meant for him. These moments needed to stop, as thrilling as they were. She just couldn’t risk losing anything to her stupid, damned, ill-timed crush on Lord Killian Jones.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, sorry, I guess I just love dragging it out between them


	7. Feeling like a fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly Killian's POV in this one! :)

Killian set the mug down with more force than necessary. Drops of rum clung to the scruff around his mouth and he no doubt reeked of the stuff.

He couldn’t care less.

The barmaid at his side was quick to give him a refill as Killian rolled the dice on the table. His opponent snarled at the two sixes, but Killian didn’t even feel much joy in having gained the upper-hand. He didn’t feel much joy about the rum, or the willing women around him or anything else. He just wanted to forget.

Liam would’ve been disgusted with him at the state he was in. He would’ve told Killian to pull himself together, that nothing was worth wasting away over.

But Liam was gone. He’d been gone for over a year now, buried at sea like any good captain should be. And Liam had been the finest captain ever to sail the seas. The best brother Killian could ever have hoped for. And he should have been celebrating his 30th birthday today, but instead, he was lost at the bottom of the ocean, and Killian was drowning his pain in rum.

His opponent rolled an unfortunate set, losing the game with a growl. He slammed the wagered coins next to Killian’s refilled mug and left the table.

The women around him purred their approval, one even going so far as to stroke his arm. The touch made his stomach turn. “Leave me,” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. They did as he requested, leaving him alone with his rum and newly earned coins.

Killian wasn’t usually averse to the warmth of a willing woman. Most nights he would fall in bed alone, but every now and then, he’d find someone to accompany him in a tavern such as this one. Brothels had never been to his liking. Many noblemen frequented them in a badly kept secret, but the clink of coins hand in hand with pleasure just didn’t sit right with Killian. If he fell into bed with anyone, they should be equals, and in an equal need for pleasure.

After Liam’s death, Killian had visited plenty of lowly taverns. For the first three months, he’d spent more time drunk than sober, and barely made it home to his bed most nights.

He’d been a mess. A right and utter mess. When the pain of Liam’s loss finally lessened, just a little bit, Killian swore he would do better. He would try to be the kind of man Liam would want him to be. During the following year, he had failed countless times, and the guilt always drove him deeper into self-destruction.

But now...

No.

Killian shook his head at himself, clenching his jaw as he willed himself to stop thinking of green eyes and a stunning smile followed by an equally beautiful laugh. Her charm and elegance, but also her bluntness and wit had enchanted Killian from the first moment he spoke with her, as much as he tried to deny it. But he couldn’t bear to think of Emma now, not in this despicable state.

She deserved better than him. So what if she was of lesser nobility, or had appeared out of the blue as his friends said. She was kind and smart, and would no doubt turn her face in disgust if she saw him now, drunk and alone in a tavern.

Thinking of Emma was nearly as painful as thinking of Liam. Thinking of that bloody, wonderful, _unforgettable_ kiss she’d bestowed on his cheek made his skin burn, and when the women at the tavern tried to touch him, he felt sick. He wanted to go back to that moment on the balcony, before Phillip had interrupted, back when there had been a chance to feel her lips against his own.

Perhaps Phillip’s interruption had been for the best though. There was no telling what that kiss might have done to Killian.

The rum burned in his throat, but after countless of servings he hardly noticed. He wanted to drink until his mind numbed, until everything went dark, and he was well on his way to sleep. Just a few more drinks and he’d fall over that blissful edge...

Killian stared at the rum left in his mug. As much as he wanted to drink until he blacked out, he knew it wouldn’t really help. In the morning, he’d wake up feeling no better about himself. On the contrary in fact. He couldn’t forget himself in between the sheets with a woman either, the very thought making his insides turn. Perhaps he could start a fight - the man whose money he’d won seemed a likely participant in a tavern brawl.

Killian downed the rest of the rum, prepared to throw a punch and receive a few in return. His balance wavered as he stood up, his vision blurring. He breathed in slowly, allowing himself a minute to regain his senses.

The man stood near the bar, acquainting himself with the warmth of a barmaid. It would be easy to go over there and give him a shove.

But it would be more pointless than easy.

Killian grabbed the coins on his table and strode across the room. The metal clunked against the bar counter, and while the bartender looked at him with surprise, Killian offered no words in return. He simply left the coins where they were, turned around and left the tavern.

The cool air of midnight was a relief against his skin. He would’ve paused to let the chill wash over him, but now that his legs were moving, he couldn’t bring them to stop.

The tavern he’d been to was in the lower part of Misthaven, near the harbour, and about an hour away from the noble district on foot. He could stay at the harbour, find a nook or a tavern to sleep in, but in his drunken state of mind, time didn’t work in the same way. He barely noticed the walk home. He couldn’t even remember making the decision to go home and sleep in his own bed. It was the right thing to do though, he supposed. Besides, his father always hated when he came home late at night. He’d told Killian more than once to sleep off his drunken stupor somewhere else.

_I’m sorry to disappoint once again, father_ , Killian though with a smirk. As much as he wanted Liam to be proud of him, and Emma to keep looking at him as if he was a good, albeit arrogant man, he couldn’t care less about Brennan’s disappointment in him. After all, Brennan had been the one to disappoint first.

A few guards looked his way when he entered the keep, but Killian didn’t care. No one stopped him or said as much as a ‘good evening’ to him. They just let him pass, and soon enough he was in the corridor leading to his chambers and - coincidently - his father’s study.

Just as he’d expected, the door that had been ajar was fully opened mere seconds after Killian passed it.

“Killian,” Brennan said, standing in the door to his study. “I thought we talked about this behaviour.”

“We did. And as you might recall, I didn’t make any promises to stop it,” Killian answered flippantly, continuing down the hall.

“Killian,” Brennan said again, this time grabbing Killian’s shoulder. He spun around, forcefully leaning away from his father’s touch. A few centimetres separated them in height, Killian the taller one, but it didn’t stop Brennan from looking at him as if he were a child. “You can’t do as you please anymore, you have a reputation to uphold and responsibilities to -”

“I’m well aware of my bloody responsibilities,” Killian spit out. He hadn’t started studying politics and history at balls for nothing. He hadn’t started taking an interest in all of Liam’s ideas out of pure sentimentality. And he didn’t engage in long discussions with his friends about how to lead, and how to ensure better lives for everyone, just for the sake of it.

Just because he didn’t meet with the tutors and lecturers that Brennan pushed his way, didn’t mean he wasn’t preparing himself for becoming the Duke now that Liam was dead.

Of course, Brennan was mainly angry because Killian refused to follow in _his_ steps.

“Then act like it!” he all but shouted, his patience with Killian wearing thin. “I let you deal with your grief as you pleased for three months, but it’s been over a year since Liam’s death-”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Killian interrupted again, the threat clear in his tone.

“I’m allowed to say the name of my own son.”

“Not after what you did to him.”

“I did nothing but care for him, Killian. Just as I care about you, despite your refusal to acknowledge it.”

“Cared for him?” Killian repeated, disbelieving. “Well, if you _cared_ for him so bloody much, you should know what day it is today.”

Killian hadn’t really thought Brennan would be oblivious to the day’s importance. Yes, it was past midnight, but surely Brennan would know what he was talking about. Surely, he wouldn’t have forgotten his own son’s birthday.

But when Brennan didn’t immediately answer, Killian’s faith in his father cracked just a little more.

“It’s his birthday,” he said, his voice hoarse and aching. “It’s his _birthday_. He should have turned 30 today, instead, he died a year ago procuring a fucking plant _you_ asked him to find.”

A flicker of sorrow, regret even, passed across Brennan’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a hardened shield. “I’ve told you countless times, I thought the herb had healing properties. I didn’t know it was poisonous. Do you really think I would’ve sent my own sons out to procure a deadly herb without telling them the truth of it? That my intention was to murder Liam?”

“All I know is that I had to watch him die in my arms, helpless to do anything about it.”

Brennan sighed, but Killian went on, refusing to let him speak. “And the night before we departed, I know he went to your study. I know you had a row; I heard both of you yelling in disagreement, and I know not of what, but I know you let us set sail without even trying to make amends with him.”

His words clearly surprised Brennan. Killian had never let anyone know of the raised voices he had heard. Numerous times, he’d wanted to shout at his father, demand to know what they’d been arguing about, but the knowledge wouldn’t bring Liam back, and Killian had been too afraid of the truth. Afraid to find out that his father was every bit as terrible as he believed him to be.

“The disagreement between Liam and I is of none of your concern,” Brennan said slowly, carefully. “But I can assure you, it had nothing to do with your mission or the consequences of its fulfilment.”

Killian wanted to believe him. He desperately wanted to trust his father’s words, but his gut told him not to. He still didn’t know why Brennan had received several calling cards from Gold in the month leading up to Liam’s death or the days after. He didn’t know why they’d started to appear on his desk again now. And until he knew, he needed Brennan to stay oblivious to the fact that he’d seen the hints of correspondence, lest those hints started to disappear.

When Killian said nothing, Brennan sighed again. “It’s late, Killian. You’re tired and obviously drunk. I know you’re in pain, but this needs to stop; you need to find another way out of this. I suggest sleeping as a start.”

Killian clenched his jaw, his fist yearning to throw that punch he had denied himself in the tavern. “Fuck you,” he hissed instead.

The words lingered in the air as he turned around and left his father in the middle of the corridor.

When the door to his chambers was locked behind him, he finally allowed himself to cry, sinking down on his bed still fully clothed. During the past year, he’d sobbed and he’d smashed things with tears of anger in his eyes, but tonight, he stayed silent in the dark of the room. He let the weight of his pain lull him to sleep, and when he woke up from dark dreams, he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

**\---------------**

Shortly after mid-March, Emma had passed through the doors of Keep Jones, making her first appearance at court. Now, towards the end of April, she stood in the ballroom again, admiring the glass-stained windows. This time however, she knew the faces around her. She accepted dance offers from young lords and knights, mingled with several groups of nobles and no longer doubted her abilities at playing a noblewoman.

But she stayed far away from the balcony.

He was there, in his favourite spot, almost every time she looked. As expected, he stood with a book, leaning up against the wall or the railing of the balcony. And he looked unfairly handsome, even if she could barely see him at all. She just _knew_ he looked good.

Sometimes, the spot would be vacant, and Emma wondered where he was instead. With his friends? At the drinks table? With another lady?

She hated herself for feeling jealous at the thought.

She hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

(She _liked_ him, goddammit.)

Well into the evening, Emma stood near the orchestra, watching couples dance on the floor. The point had been reached where everyone had had a few glasses of wine or whiskey, and although the nobles weren’t nearly as wild as any tavern crowd, the effects of alcohol could be felt. Emma usually found this moment in the evening perfect for gathering gossip.

Tonight though, she may have drunk a little too much wine herself. Rather than risk embarrassing herself, she’d secluded herself from the mingling nobles, just for the time being. Hopefully, standing so close to the orchestra would sober her up a bit.

Not that she was _drunk,_ per se. She’d find Robin and tell him it was time to leave if she truly felt drunk (or he’d tell _her_ it was time to leave, if he thought she looked too intoxicated).

No, she was just pleasantly tipsy. And a pleasantly tipsy Emma enjoyed watching the couples dancing, without having to participate in any dance or conversation herself.

“Swan!”

The swoop in her belly whenever _he_ said her name would never get old.

“Jones!” she replied, meeting his blue eyes with a smile.

He lifted an eyebrow - after all, she’d always referred to him as lord, even if he’d decided to strip away the formality when addressing her.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Killian said, leaning towards her. He probably only did it so he didn’t have to shout over the music, but Emma’s skin tingled nonetheless.

“Avoiding you?” she repeated. Yes, they hadn’t spoken since the evening of the tournament four days ago, but she’d only attended one ball since then, and it was only by chance they hadn’t run into each other. Tonight though...

“Indeed, Swan. I’ve been up on that balcony all evening, and you haven’t tried to steal my spot even once.”

Emma shrugged, a smile still lingering on her lips. “I could hardly steal it while you were there, could I?”

“Fair enough,” he replied, eyes twinkling. Why the hell did he have to be so rakishly handsome anyways? “But you could have paid me a visit. It’s unlike you to not interrupt when I’m reading.”

It was Emma’s turn to raise her eyebrow. “Are you saying you missed me, Lord Killian?”

Inwardly, she cursed himself for sounding so... flirtatious. But Killian didn’t seem to mind, his lips curling into a playful smirk. “Of course not, Lady Emma.”

His playful tone made it obvious that he was lying, and Emma was almost giddy at the thought that Killian would miss her enough to find her himself. And let her know that he missed her.

(Well, fuck. Emma must have been drunker than she thought, because she was never _giddy_.)

“I have a confession to make,” she said, rather abruptly.

Intrigued, (maybe even hopeful?), Killian tilted his head. “Most women do.”

“I want to know why people keep saying you’re the troublemaker of court.” Truly, she had wondered about this. David had warned her about him, and Regina hadn’t been shy about insulting him, but aside from his cockiness, she hadn’t seen him cause much trouble. “Reading books and refusing to dance can hardly be _that_ problematic.”

“Well, perhaps I’ve been known to cause more trouble in the past,” he said, his voice lower than before. Gruff, almost. However, in true Killian Jones fashion, a smug mask was quickly put in place. “But rest assured, Swan; I’m still a devilishly handsome scoundrel.”

“Sure you are,” Emma said, all but rolling her eyes at him. She knew he had stayed away from Aurora’s birthday because he didn’t want to cause her any trouble. And yet he’d showed up when his best friend asked him to.

Killian Jones surely meant trouble for _her_ , but he wasn’t as bad as David made him sound.

(Of course, there was still the very real possibility that he was only entertaining her to annoy his father, as David assumed. That didn’t explain why she’d never seen Lord Brennan around whenever she spoke with Killian though.)

“What about you, Swan? Last we were in this hall, you said you were overwhelmed by your first experience at court. Have your feelings changed since then?”

“Yeah. I mean, I doubt I’d still be here if they hadn’t.”

“You’re a tough lass,” Killian said. “I’m sure you would have braved your way through it.”

The compliment was unexpected, but before she could dwell on it, Killian spoke again. “Have you painted much since you arrived?”

Right. She’d lied to him and told him she enjoyed painting during one of their first conversations. It was still nice of him to remember though. “Not a lot,” she answered, the lie slipping off her tongue as easily as all the others she’d told in the past five weeks. “I usually painted the landscapes at home anyway.”

Killian was about to say something when Emma felt a yawn coming. She did her best to stifle it, not wanting him to think she was bored - truly, now that she thought of it, she _was_ really tired - but he noticed immediately, and whatever he was about to say was forgotten. “Tired, Swan?”

Emma smiled sheepishly. “A bit. To be fair though, I’m sure I’ve danced a lot more than you have this evening.”

“I’d wager you’re right,” Killian smiled; this soft, warm smile that made Emma’s insides melt. “And I’d hate to keep you up if you’d rather retire for the night.”

“No, it’s alright,” Emma said, and she wasn’t sure what embarrassed her more: the hastiness of her reply, or the yawn she failed to stifle right after.

Killian laughed. “It’s late, Swan. Go home - _sleep._ ”

Emma wasn’t much for people telling her what to do, even if they meant to be kind and helpful. But with the way Killian was smiling at her, she didn’t find herself minding it at all. She knew he probably wouldn’t push the matter if she stayed, but she _was_ tired. And so she bid him goodnight, leaving him with a smile as she went to find Robin.

Thinking of their conversation had her smiling widely as she laid under the covers of her bed. They’d both flirted with the other, and things had been light and easy (possibly due to her tipsy state) - and they hadn’t almost kissed, which meant she could think of the encounter without blushing and scolding herself. She could just curl under her blankets, her stomach fluttering as she secretly smiled to herself.

**\----------**

The next day, a package arrived for Emma at the townhouse. There was no envelope attached, and whoever had sent it didn’t leave their name on the wrapping.

Emma knew who it was from as soon as she opened it though.

The wrapping gave way to the finest set of paints Emma had ever seen, a small note attached to it.

**_I hope these paints are to your liking. And that Misthaven and all it has to offer (such as a dashing fellow like myself) doesn’t leave your muse wanting - K._ **

Emma shook her head at him as she read the note, a smile forming on her lips. Snow looked at her knowingly, but fortunately, she agreed it wasn’t necessary for David to learn of the gift.

**\----------**

He had been resolved to not give her the paints. For the past weeks, they had been hiding behind books on his shelf, but even if he couldn’t see them, he was acutely aware of their presence.

So he sent them.

He actually sent them.

He just bloody hoped she didn’t think him a fool.

But his friends would certainly think him a fool if he didn’t stop imagining Emma’s reaction upon opening the gift long enough to answer the question Phillip had asked.

“Oh, uh, yes,” Killian said, hoping the answer matched the question he’d only half-heard. It probably didn’t, but Phillip didn’t seem to mind as he was smirking at Killian with a knowing look. Thomas as well.

“I asked what time you left the ball last night, but never mind that, I’m more interested in the thoughts causing that dreamful look on your face.”

“Only someone special can get a man to wear that look,” Thomas supplied. And well, he wasn’t wrong, Killian supposed.

At the end of the table in Phillip’s study, Eric sighed. “Please tell me it’s not Lady Emma Swan.”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Killian asked, perhaps a bit too quickly and a bit too defensively if he didn’t want to prove his friends right.

“We’ve talked about this before, Killian, she’s just not... she doesn’t seem very trustworthy,” Eric said, as kindly as he could, while still being honest.

“And you’ve talked to her all of what, two times?” Killian asked. “How could you possibly know if she’s trustworthy or not?”

“I...” Eric paused as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he should speak his mind. “None of us liked the fact that we’d never heard of her or her family before, so I had her house watched, just-”

“You what?” Killian interrupted, unable to believe Eric would stoop to such a level.

“I know it sounds bad -”

“It sounds bloody horrible. She’s done nothing but be kind and you-”

“My servant saw her leave the house alone, Killian. Several times, during any hour of the day, and in common garb. He hardly recognized her the first time.”

That gave Killian pause, but still, so what if she liked to wear the clothes of common people and go out on her own? Maybe that’s how she used to live in the country. “I fail to see how that proves she’s untrustworthy.”

“My servant followed her. And several times, she ended up at The Red Wolf – remember, that tavern we went to a few weeks ago. My servant has even seen her talking with the barkeep as if they’re old friends - but why would she have a good friend in the city when she’s never been here before? And the barkeep of a tavern we’ve visited, where we’ve discussed more delicate matters... she could have relayed information to Emma, or Emma might even have been there herself.”

Killian’s jaw ticked, refusing to acknowledge what Eric was implying. That she was a spy...

“Well, Aurora’s good friends with her,” Phillip said.

“Ella too.”

“But of course, if she can fool you, Killian, she might be able to fool them too,” Phillip continued. “And I... I did see her speaking to Lady Regina during one of her first balls here. Perhaps...”

“Do you all think she’s a bloody spy?” Killian all but yelled, sitting at the edge of his seat with his hands balled into fists.

Quietly, Phillip admitted, “I hate to say it, but it’s a possibility.”

“She did show up at the same time as you started noticing more calling cards from Gold,” Thomas said, as if the two could possibly be connected.

“And when the King started to feel ill,” Eric added.

Killian shook his head at them, furious at what they were saying. “I need some air,” he said at last, unable to deal with the rage within him.

And worse, the doubt.

He thought of all the times he had spoken with Emma, her honesty - sometimes brutal - her nervousness about dancing in the beginning and the way she seemed so much more at home now. The soft kiss she had bestowed his cheek... was it all just a ruse? An act designed to get close to him and learn his secrets so she could relay them to Regina or Gold or maybe even his own father.

It hurt more than he was willing to admit. He’d only just begun to allow himself to feel something for her, to send her those damned paints... he didn’t want to think of how much it would hurt if he discovered that Emma truly was lying to him. He’d be more than a fool then. He’d be a bloody mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading - if you've got the time, comments are most welcome :D


	8. Every song has an end

It was a strange experience, liking someone. At times Emma would feel like she could scarcely contain the happiness within her. And a second later, she would find herself doubting everything about her and Killian, wishing the feeling inside her would just disappear.

She didn’t see him much in the following weeks. Dancing and gossip, young lords and ladies took up most of her time. He seemed to be busy as well, with who knows what. She never even properly thanked him for the paints, a part of her too scared to acknowledge the gift, scared he regretted sending them. And somehow, she felt that he was avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him.

It was a strange experience, indeed.

Trying to riddle out the secret thoughts in the minds of the nobility didn’t make it easier either. But as the knowledge of the king’s illness became more common, the game began to change.

At first, the nobles mentioned their hopes for the return of the king’s health. Some seemed honest in their politeness, others were far from. And Emma found two kinds of dishonest well-wishers: the ones she hoped to find (the ones like her), and then there were the dangerous ones, clearly seeking opportunity in George’s death.

She still didn’t know which side Killian was on. The weeks had allowed for far too little time between them for her to figure him out. (She liked to think he’d be on her side though - David’s side - because how could he not be?)

“I think House Rose is very likely to support you,” Emma said, happy to be able to share good news with David, Snow and the rest of them.

They had meetings every day now, in the lounge room around the circular coffee table. Snow had intel gathered from informants, Robin and Will from the servants, and interestingly enough, Will had made friends with a merchant who knew plenty about the nobles - plenty about everything, really. Emma wondered if this merchant might work at the bookstore she’d seen him leave all those weeks ago - _Maurice’s_. But from Will’s uncharacteristic bashfulness, Emma supposed the merchant in question was a woman. As long as she was trustworthy though, Emma wouldn’t tease him. At least not too much.

“Has Lady Aurora mentioned anything?” Snow asked.

“Actually, Grace was the one to say something first. Her father is apparently very torn about George’s illness, saying it could either do the kingdom a great favour or seal its doom. All depending on if the one to take George’s place is an even worse ruler.”

From what Emma had garnered, Lord Jefferson had witnessed some of the more disturbing consequences of King George’s ruling. For while slavery was said to be illegal in the Enchanted Forest, everyone knew it was a thin line separating indentured servitude and slavery from each other. Worst of all, when orphaned children weren’t ignored by George’s guards, they were captured and forced to work on plantations or in factories. Emma had lived in fear of that fate for many years. And Lord Jefferson had once seen a kid being taken – a young girl, resembling Grace.

“And you think the rest of House Rose agrees with Lord Jefferson?” David asked.

“Aurora said her mother had said the very same thing,” Emma nodded. “And while Ella kept quiet, I could tell there was something on her mind. As if House Boyd may be having the same concerns.”

“But no one’s right-out said they can’t wait to see George gone, have they?” Will asked.

“Nobles tend to have a bit more tact,” David said, dryly.

_Unfortunately_ , Emma thought. Oh, her job would be so much easier if everyone just said what they meant. At least her natural talent at spotting lies had given her an advantage when learning the language of the nobility.

“So far though, from what I’ve gathered,” Robin said, “most people believe the king will recover.”

“The common people desperately hope he won’t,” Ruby supplied. The news of George’s illness had spread through Misthaven within a couple of days. Since then, Ruby had heard plenty of patrons toasting for the good fortune that had finally shown its face in the king’s malady.

“They don’t realize that George’s death may lead to something far worse, do they?” David said. “It could lead to a war.”

“It could,” Snow agreed. “But right now, all they see is hope. Hope for a better future. And...” Her eyes suddenly lit up as she sat up straight. “Maybe that’s exactly what we need!”

“Hope? I don’t reckon we’d have agreed to all of this if we didn’t have hope already,” Will said.

“No, we need the people to have hope,” Snow said, a smile spreading across her face. “They need to know that without George, things _will_ be better. They’ll have a fair ruler, a ruler who listens and works hard for his people.”

“You were quite popular amongst the people before, weren’t you?” Robin asked.

David nodded, but the accompanying sigh sounded much too defeated. “Yes. But unfortunately, George managed to tarnish that popularity when he exiled me, likely with the help of Lady Mills and Lord Gold - they’ve got plenty of power over the town criers and papers. And the people took their word for it when they heard any son borne of an adulteress was the worst kind of bastard to exist.”

“Typical,” Emma said, wryly. “A man can have as many bastards as he wants, but when it’s a _woman_...”

“It’s a shitty world we live in,” Ruby agreed. “Hopefully, we’ll get to change it someday. Starting with the fact that I don’t think the people hate you, David. Not when George is near death, or so they think. They’re less afraid of him now - less afraid of all the nobles, really. And they’d love a king like you, who’s lived like a commoner for seven years.”

“Exactly,” Snow said. “We’ve been going about this all wrong - well, not entirely wrong, we just forgot a key player in the game. _The people_. No candidate for the throne will want to go up against someone with the people on their side - it would be too much work. Especially if we _do_ get Great Houses like Rose behind us as well.”

“So, you want to tell the people I’ve returned to Misthaven to take the throne?” David asked.

“We’ll need to make a good story of it,” Robin said. “One people will remember, and share with everyone they know. But not one that will cause George to send his guards out looking for you.”

“Like a ghost story,” Snow supplied.

“Oh, you just leave that to the barkeep,” Ruby said, smirking into her cup of spiked chocolate. “I know exactly what to do.”

**\---------**

Two weeks passed; two weeks of colourful ballgowns and lunches and talking. Two weeks without seeing much of Killian. Oh, their eyes would meet every now and then at balls, and they would find themselves amongst the same group of people, but they were never alone together. Not like they had been.

And the constant presence of others stopped her from getting to ask him what the hell was going on with him. With _them_. Not that there was any _them_ , of course, but... Emma found herself missing him. That alone was probably a good reason to be happy that a distance had formed between them. She couldn’t afford getting too close to him and _missing_ him.

(She’d opened the paints one evening, tried her hand at being artistic with a brush and some parchment she had found in the townhouse. She had meant to draw a swan, but the picture (now hidden in her dresser) didn’t resemble anything but a mess.)

The king’s health hadn’t returned, and everyone was starting to realize it might never return at all. Still, the date for the all-important council meeting, the one that could determine who would sit on the throne next, hadn’t been given a date. It seemed George still had hope. And he refused to have the nobles squabbling over his position while he was still alive.

The situation made for tense evenings. The nobles did their best to hide it, but they were getting anxious. So was Emma.

But two weeks after Ruby started spreading rumours - ghost stories - about the exiled prince’s return, Emma found herself smiling behind her wine glass; the story had reached the nobility. Zelena to be precise.

Observing the nobles’ reactions to the story nearly, _nearly_ , made her forget all about Killian. Most people refused to believe it, some saying ‘the bastard’ wouldn’t be stupid enough to return. Others had clearly known David before he was exiled, known the kindness that Emma now knew. They didn’t cheer or anything, but Emma could see it in their eyes. They were hopeful.

_If only Snow could see this_ , Emma thought, eagerly awaiting the moment she got home, so she could spread the good news.

“An extraordinary coincidence that he’d return right after news of the king’s illness, isn’t it?” Lady Regina said, just as Emma passed her table. Of course, Regina couldn’t possibly know of Emma’s connection to David, still, it felt like she had raised her voice just to be sure Emma heard what she said.

The smile faded from Emma’s lips. Regina, Cora and Gold - or anyone who really wanted to - could easily sway people into thinking David had a hand in George’s death. And who knew what would happen to him then, if he ever showed his face in public.

Emma found even fewer reasons to be happy during the following ball. Once, she had been asked to dance by several young lords each evening. She’d mingled with numerous groups of nobles, her youth and inexperience making her seem like one of the least threatening persons in the room.

But now, conversation died out as soon as she joined. Very few lords asked her to dance, and they never lingered to speak with her after. Aurora and Ella weren’t present, so she had no one to turn to. And Killian kept close to his friends, of which Eric especially hadn’t seemed very happy about Emma’s presence lately.

What had she done wrong? Had she somehow revealed herself? Did everyone know who she really was?

“Lady Emma.” She turned to find Robin looking at her with concern. “I think it’s best we retire for the night.”

“What’s going on?” Emma asked, determined that Robin answer her truthfully.

“Exactly what David feared.”

At Emma’s scrunched brows, Robin elaborated, “the King’s illness has grown much worse. The nobles are starting to form alliances, making plans to ensure or better their stations, and -”

“And I have nothing to offer,” Emma finished for him, her voice not giving away any emotion. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure what to feel. If the nobles wouldn’t talk to her, she wouldn’t need to talk to _them_ anymore. She wouldn’t need to dance or lie, fear exposure or face her feelings for Killian... but she’d be useless. David and Snow wouldn’t need her anymore.

“Don’t worry, Emma,” Robin said, as if he could read her mind. His genuine friendliness warmed her, still, it didn’t stop her from worrying. “We’ll see what happens.”

Snow and David told her much the same when she and Robin returned home. Before she went to bed, Snow pulled her aside to give her a hug, which wasn’t at all uncommon. Emma still wasn’t used to it though. And now she couldn’t help but feel it was a hug goodbye.

“The nobles may not think you have much to offer, but Emma, we _know_ you do. You’re a part of this,” Snow smiled, reaching up to curl a stray lock of hair behind Emma’s ear. “We’d never have made it this far without you. And we won’t make it to the end without you.”

Emma wanted to argue and say that she hadn’t really done anything at all. The look in Snow’s eyes stopped her though. And well, if Snow really believed Emma was of value and that she wanted her to stay, Emma didn’t want to argue. Although as she closed her bedroom door behind her, she knew she’d only be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

**\---------**

Days later, Emma looked at herself in the mirror, knowing the beautiful red dress may be the last ball gown she’d ever have to wear. Snow and David wanted her to try attending one more ball, just to be sure that mingling with the nobility was a lost cause. It seemed fitting that that ball would be hosted by House Jones.

Emma tore her eyes away from the dress, meeting her own stare in the looking glass. She should be happy; this was her last ball. She’d fooled them all for months, made the nobility believe she was one of them, and now she could go back to being just Emma. No more lordships and ladies. No more nonsense.

As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop outside of Keep Jones, Emma could tell things were off. Compared to her first ball, the entrance was nearly empty, and inside the main hall, people favoured talking in small groups rather than dancing.

Fortunately, Aurora and Ella were in attendance. However, it didn’t seem like they intended to stay for long.

“My father and step-mother didn’t want me to come at all,” Ella said. “They think it’s better for us to stay out of everything going on.”

“Much like my family then,” Emma lied. “I received a letter just this morning. They’re asking me to come home.”

It was the perfect lie, really. A believable reason for Lady Emma Swan to leave Misthaven; her parents didn’t want her to get caught up in a potential house war. A war that was becoming more and more likely with each day that King George’s illness got worse, and each day he refused to let the council meet. The tension and uncertainty was weighing on everyone. Soon enough, someone was bound to snap.

“What?” Aurora exclaimed, genuinely surprising Emma. “But Emma, you belong here, I know you do!”

Again, quite the surprise.

“Hopefully I’ll come back when things have settled - and for your wedding, of course.”

“Oh, you must certainly come back for the wedding!” Aurora said, grabbing Emma’s hand and giving it a short squeeze. “But I understand your parents’ concern. Things aren’t what they’re supposed to be here in Misthaven - far from.”

She was right about that, Emma supposed. Although, in her opinion, things hadn’t been what they were supposed to be for years. That’s why she chose to help David after all.

Ella left soon after, and Aurora got caught up in conversation with her parents and their close friends. Emma meant to go looking for Robin, but her resolve quickly broke.

She went to the balcony instead.

Killian hadn’t been up there yet as far as she knew. And she didn’t know what she was doing, going up there and hoping he’d see her. Hoping he’d join her. Every step she took, she knew she was making a terrible decision but... she just had to see him one last time. Had to figure out if she’d truly made a horrible mistake, allowing herself to develop feelings for him.

Ten minutes passed as she lingered at the edge of the balcony. She tried not to look down at the people, instead training her gaze on the glass windows. This was her last chance to see them from the inside anyway.

“Swan!”

Emma turned her head to see Killian walking towards her. He wore a smile, but as soon as Emma smiled back, his faded away. He stopped a few short paces away from her, almost mid-step.

Something wasn’t right.

“Swan, I... I wanted to talk to you actually,” Killian said, and Emma didn’t like the way his tone dropped, the words heavy and grave on his tongue. Her feet ached to step closer, but she kept still, feeling unsure of herself in a way she never had before in Killian’s presence. Something was wrong for sure.

“Yeah?”

“Well, um,” he paused, looking around as if afraid anyone would overhear him. “We haven’t talked much these past few weeks, and I merely wished to offer an explanation. You see, with everything that has been happening, the King’s illness and the uncertain future ahead of us, I’ve been quite busy, and I realised that perhaps... perhaps it would be for the best if we ended this dalliance of ours.”

“Oh.” The simple word and the, hopefully, blank look on her face did not at all convey the way she felt.

He may as well have punched her in the stomach.

“Of course, we were never that close,” he continued, “but I do feel like something was about to happen, however it probably wouldn’t have lasted for long either way. Better we end things now before risking either of us getting hurt.”

Emma had no clue what he expected her to say to that. She had no clue what she _could_ say. A punch in the face would surely draw too much attention, but it might be worth it, knowing that he’d feel some semblance of pain, because his words were absolute bullshit.

“So the King falls ill and you don’t want to be seen with me anymore,” Emma summed up, anything but impressed by his excuse. “Sure it’s not because I’m just a country girl to you?”

The pain Emma was hoping to see before flashed across his face. “Do you really think that little of me?”

“Clearly, it’s the only reason that makes sense; the King’s ill and my rank will do nothing to help yours when he finally dies.”

“Emma, I’m not even sure what your rank _is_ ,” Killian snapped.

“What?” Emma scrunched her brow, but Killian didn’t leave her waiting.

“You’re a spy! Aren’t you?”

The question hung in the air, but just as Emma was about to deny it, Killian barrelled on. “Hired by House Mills or Gold, I presume, or even my own bloody father. And I reckon you’ve been lying to me ever since you came here, though I like to think you weren’t. I like to think you were just playing the game, because that’s what we’ve all been forced to do, ever since we learned how to talk -”

“Why the hell would you think I’m a spy?” Emma asked, interrupting him. Anger boiled inside her, not because he’d guessed correctly, but because he’d gotten the details wrong in the worst way imaginable. That he could actually think she worked for Cora or Gold...

“I’ve got a list of reasons, but Emma, it doesn’t matter why! All that matters is I’m not letting myself be fooled by you anymore.” He swallowed, looking like he was trying to hold back words he’d regret. Emma didn’t want to risk finding out what those words could be.

“No, nothing you’ve said matters one bit,” she all but spat. “My parents have asked me to come home, and I came up here to say goodbye to you, but you know what, Killian? Screw you.”

Finally, she let her feet walk forward; right past Killian, leaving him behind without a second glance.

**\---------**

He watched her leave, feeling much worse than he thought he would. Obviously, he thought of their time together as more than a simple dalliance. He’d fallen for her, head over heels.

Unfortunately, he’d also fallen for her lies.

His friends had to be right. Killian had looked through the records at the Royal Library, and no House Swan had ever existed. Then there was the fact that she’d been the one to take his spot on the balcony when they met - a spot most nobles knew to be his favourite. Their meeting was inevitable that way. He’d even left her alone with his books at one ball, and had come back to find her reading one of them! No doubt, she’d taken the chance to look through them all. And finally, she was friends with the barkeep at The Red Wolf, and must have heard about his conversation with his friends during their lunch at the establishment. She’d wormed her way into his head, perhaps even into his heart...

He’d genuinely thought there was something between them. He wished there _was_ something between them. Not something short or doomed to fail, but...

He should just let it go. Let _her_ go. Even if he was wrong about her being a spy, he’d just insulted her in a most terrible way, and she was going home. Whatever it was between them, it wasn’t there anymore.

**\---------**

Of course, Robin would be impossible to find. Of course he was, right when she wanted to go home more than anything else, wanted to scream and to get out of her wretched corset. Instead, she was left to roaming the hall with invisible steam trailing after her.

“My, you look quite upset, Lady Emma.”

That managed to stop her in her tracks, looking to the side to see Lady Zelena with a glass of white wine in her hand.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she lied, hoping to get away from the younger Mills sister as soon as possible. She’d rather not end up as the newest gossip story.

Then again, it didn’t really matter if she did.

“I’m sure it’s a good bit more than nothing,” Zelena said. The comment should have been kind, but it only sounded like she couldn’t wait for a look into Emma’s mind, so she could pass it on as soon as possible. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with your upcoming departure, would it?”

A few months ago, Emma would’ve been surprised and slightly alarmed that Zelena had already come across that piece of information. But now she knew how fast news reached Zelena’s ears. Even when Emma hadn’t told more than a handful of people about her departure, including Killian.

“Well, yes, I am quite sad to be leaving,” Emma replied, hoping a quick agreement with Zelena would allow her to be on her way.

“It really is a shame. But then again, it seems the knives are about to come out from under the tables, so perhaps leaving is for the best.”

_Well, that sounds like an ominous threat more than anything_ , Emma thought.

“You think someone will end up hurt because of the King’s illness?”

“Oh, darling, we all know it will,” Zelena said, sounding a bit too amused. “So I hope you’re pleased with the goodbyes you and Lord Killian exchanged up there on the balcony.”

“What do you mean?” Emma blurted, though she knew full well what Zelena meant. “Someone’s going to hurt Killian?”

The familiarity of the way she said Killian’s name gave a curl to Zelena’s lips, one she hid behind the wine glass in her hand. “I have no idea, darling.” She sipped at her wine. “But were they pleasant goodbyes? Or is Lord Killian the true reason you look so upset?”

The rules were clear; Zelena wasn’t going to give Emma any more information unless she divulged some of her own. And if Zelena wanted to know about the relationship between Emma and Killian, well, Emma had nothing to lose from letting her have what she wanted.

“They weren’t pleasant, no. Before I even told him I was leaving, he said he wanted to end things - that it didn’t make sense to go any further when the King’s illness is so serious. Likely because I won’t be of any use to him, power-wise.” Emma let it all roll off her tongue. Except for the part of him believing her to be a spy. Zelena didn’t have to know that.

“And what precisely were these _things_ he wanted to end?”

“We only ever talked together. Often alone, and we did nearly kiss once, but we were interrupted,” Emma said, hoping that would be enough for Zelena. Truly, there wasn’t much more to say.

Zelena hummed, as if evaluating Emma’s information. Finally, she spoke, “you’ve missed your last chance for that kiss then. I heard someone’s going to pay his room a visit after midnight. And they’re bringing the sharpest knives they own.” With a final sip of her wine, Zelena smiled. “Have a wonderful journey home, Lady Emma.”

_Thanks_ , Emma thought, letting Zelena leave without another word. The information she’d given was spinning around in her head, threatening to make her nauseous. She may be angry with Killian, but the thought of anyone putting a knife to his throat was like swallowing lead.

Maybe Zelena was wrong. Maybe she was lying. Why would she tell Emma something so significant anyways? Everyone knew Zelena as the court gossip, but Emma knew she was smarter than she let on. She wouldn’t share plans for an assassination without an ulterior motive.

David and Snow were of quite the same mind.

“You can’t trust Lady Zelena,” David said. “She could have hundreds of dark reasons to have told you that, Emma, and it would be best to just forget it.”

What was it with people telling her what was for the best? Killian, Zelena, now David. Emma was getting sick and tired of it.

“But what if she’s right, David? What if someone really is going to try to murder Killian?”

“I... I don’t know.” It pained him to say it, Emma knew. But she also knew he wasn’t telling the entire truth.

“Meaning you’re okay if he dies.”

“No, Emma, of course not!” David exclaimed, hurt that she could even suggest it.

“We don’t want anyone to die in order to achieve our goal, not even King George,” Snow said.

“So why aren’t we making plans to save Killian?”

David sighed. “Because it’s likely a trap, Emma. What other reason would Zelena have to tell you about it?”

“What reason would she have to set a trap for me?” Emma countered.

“Maybe she’s discovered something about you - about us,” David said. “And trying to save Killian will be the proof she needs.”

It was logical, Emma knew that, but still... Killian’s life was worth that risk. She didn’t need to convince David and Snow about that. She probably could have. They were good people, and when they said they didn’t want anyone to die, Emma believed them. But they were likely to be more accepting about Killian’s death than anything bad happening to Emma.

So in the end, when Snow said she’d try to make a deal with one of her contacts, Emma pretended to be satisfied. She bid her and David goodnight, went to her room and closed the door behind her. But she didn’t put on her nightgown, and she didn’t get under the covers of her bed. Instead, she pulled out the clothes she’d hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe when she first arrived. Clothes she could use if she ever needed to escape without being seen. Clothes she usually wore for heists.

The dagger on the nightstand was finally taken from its spot, as were the daggers in the dresser. Emma pulled her hair back in a tight ponytail, and looked in the mirror. She had no problem recognizing herself this time. And as certain as ever, Emma opened the window, knowing this was a job that couldn’t afford any mistakes.

 


	9. It's not the climb you need to worry about

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favourite chapter... just saying ;)

Smoke rose from the chimneys as the people stayed inside, sleeping peacefully in their beds or talking lowly in the candlelight. The warmth of daylight was long gone, stars shining clearly overhead. Fortunately for Emma, the moon was but a sliver, giving her just enough light to see, and just enough shade to hide in.

The hour was nearing midnight, and Emma pushed herself to run faster. The street lights of the noble district were right up ahead. A few more minutes, and she’d be there.

Hopefully, the assassin wasn’t already there.

Emma knew Killian wasn’t a bad fighter. She’d seen him win the prince’s birthday tournament after all. But she also knew that fighting on a tournament field was very different to fighting an unexpected attack. If only he hadn’t disappeared at the ball, she would have been able to warn him. Or if David and Snow hadn’t kept her so late, she could have come back to the keep in time to tell him. But now...

Emma turned a corner, keeping close to the buildings. She kept her head down and her steps as light as possible. The streets of the noble districts were patrolled by several guards, but Emma had slipped past them before a few years ago. She could do it again. And so could the assassin.

Finally, Keep Jones came into view. The final guests were leaving, and the glass stained windows were still lit from the outside. Emma didn’t know where Killian’s chambers were, but she reckoned it was on the other side of the main hall. Luckily, the keeps of Misthaven weren’t as large as the palace, though Keep Jones did have two high towers. Emma desperately hoped Killian’s room wasn’t in one of them. She was a good climber, but there wasn’t quite enough time to search both towers.

With guests, servants and guards alike walking around, Emma had to be careful. She couldn’t run, and the wrong move could cost her dearly. Slowly, quietly, she made her way around to the other side of the keep. Only a few windows were lit there, and Killian’s room _had_ to be one of them. Emma could hardly afford climbing up to each one and checking though.

Footsteps sounded to her left. Emma dashed into a nook in the building across from the keep, the space just big enough for her. She rested her head against the brick wall, trying to keep her breathing as quiet as possible.

The footsteps came closer. They weren’t particularly quick, and a clanking of metal accompanied them. A guard, then. Emma grimaced, thinking of her last run-in with one of the city guards. She was better prepared this time though. And hell if she was going to let this one get the better of her.

The guard passed without a glance in her direction. Emma exhaled, relieved, though her heart didn’t stop pounding a mile a minute.

She still didn’t know which room was Killian’s. She didn’t know which way the assassin would be coming from. For all she knew, Killian could already be lying dead somewhere.

Emma moved to get out of her hiding spot. With her back still against the wall, her ears picked up on something. Another, much lighter - and more agile - set of footsteps.

She trained her eyes on the shadows, ready to act upon any spotted movement. It could be a servant, a street urchin or just about anyone. Or it could be Killian’s assassin.

The footsteps stopped. Emma’s stomach tightened, her eyes frantically searching the darkness.

Sounds of scuffling carried through the breeze, and Emma’s legs were more than ready to move. She just needed to find the source...

 _There_.

On the stone wall, reaching up to grab a window frame - there was the guy she was looking for. Emma almost ran on the spot, eager to pull the assassin down from the wall. But she had to be smart. She had to expose herself at just the right time, to ensure she got the upper-hand - and wasn’t ambushed in the meantime.

She followed the lithe shadow with her eyes, realizing he - or she - was headed for the balcony on the fourth floor to the right. The dagger strapped to Emma’s thigh begged to be used, but if she hit her mark - and she usually did - the assassin’s fall was sure to be heard. And if Emma was running from the guards, Killian’s room would be unwatched and accessible for any other potential assassin. Emma didn’t want to take that risk.

Instead, she figured it was time to put her skill at climbing to use.

As the shadow made its way up to the third floor window frame, slow but steady, Emma crept along the opposite building. Every step was carefully placed, her attention torn between staying quiet and keeping tabs on the climbing assassin.

Finally, with the balcony now to her left, Emma took a good look around. Friends of the shadow could be anywhere. On the roofs, in any nook... perhaps even inside the keep. But while the assassin was too busy scaling the stones to the balcony, Emma saw her chance. It was now or never.

Cautiously, she stepped out of the comforting shadows. She kept her head down, a hood covering her blonde hair and pale skin. In between two street lights, she kept to the narrow, darker path, where the flickering light of the oily wicks faded away on the cobblestones. She couldn’t be too quick, or she’d draw attention to herself. Too slow, and she wouldn’t be able to pass as a flicker of light, if the assassin happened to see her.

She was walking on a thin line in every sense.

At last, the assassin couldn’t see her underneath the balcony; Emma all but hugged the stone wall of the keep. But she didn’t have time to be relieved, she didn’t have time to take calming breaths. She needed to climb this wall, and she needed to do it damned fast.

The cold stone of the first window frame felt good and sturdy underneath her hands. With her feet on the bottom ledge, she pulled herself up, relishing the chance to use her strength.

Ever since she was a kid, Emma preferred sleeping as far away from the ground as possible. She would find corners under roofs, or abandoned lofts in the warehouses by the harbour. Her favourite spot had been a place where three roofs met, but once some of the other street urchins had found it, she never came back. She had simply found that being up high where she could see the city around her always brought some peace to her mind.

Now though, there was nothing peaceful about climbing. She focused on every next step, every next gap for her hands and feet, while keeping the panic at bay.

The assassin had reached the balcony. Emma could hear the locks of the door being fiddled with, and she thanked the stars that Killian kept his door locked.

Her fingers dug into the crevice between two stones. She was at the third floor now, right underneath the edge of the balcony. One more reach, and she’d be there.

Emma steadied her feet, eyeing the ledge of the dense balcony railing. She had to be quick and smooth. The picks were still jiggling in the lock, and there wasn’t time to mess anything up now.

A deep breath, and then Emma raised her left foot towards the ledge. Her left hand reached the upper edge of the railing, and her right was just behind it. In one tough move, Emma heaved herself over the balcony wall, just as the lock clicked.

On one knee, the assassin didn’t have time to react as Emma lunged herself at him.

She landed with her left foot on the calf of his bent leg, the force of her body knocking into his causing both of them to fall. But she had the upper-hand, and he had a twisted leg.

That didn’t stop him though.

Quicker than Emma had anticipated, a knife was gleaming in his hand. She dodged it, twisting to the side. He used the momentum to roll her all the way over.

Emma knew she’d hurt his calf. With his body looming over hers, the blade nearing her throat, she used that knowledge, twisting her leg around his bad one and giving it a good _tug_. He barely flinched, but Emma reached for his wrist, elbowing him in the chest. She kept the knife inches away from her throat, bringing her other knee up to his stomach while his left hand was busy trying to keep the first leg under control.

With a grunt, Emma put her weight into her elbow, forcing both of them to roll over again. They hit the balcony doors, but Emma barely registered it, too busy trying to knock the blade out of the assassin’s hand. She had a solid hold of his body now, all she needed was to get that knife away... or end the fight for good.

She reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh, just as the door opened. It knocked into both her and the assassin, and taken by surprise, Emma moved away, rolling off of her foe.

She looked up, wisps of hair falling into her face, and met the shocked look of Killian’s eyes.

Her name was forming on his lips, and perhaps shock was an understatement. She only looked at him for a millisecond though, before sensing a blade moving towards her.

As if Killian wasn’t there at all, Emma pulled her dagger from its strap, and crossed blades with the assassin in one sharp _clang_. Both of them were sitting upright now, but Emma only needed a short push and she was on her knees, pulling her left arm back and throwing her fist towards the assassin’s face, putting all of her weight into her knuckles.

She met the bottom of his nose with a terrible crunch. His head was forced backwards, a wretched crack sounding from his neck. The arm holding the knife fell to his side, as the assassin slumped backwards. He wasn’t dead, just knocked out.

Emma looked at her beaten foe, breathing heavily. Without looking up, she said, “he won’t be out for long.”

Finally, she lifted her gaze, seeing first the long dagger in Killian’s hand, then once more, the staggered look on his face. She was an unexpected sight, for sure. Dressed all in tight black clothes, her hood now fallen back, leaving wisps of hair to fly freely like a madwoman. The knife in her hand and the blood on her knuckles surely didn’t help.

Killian assessed the scene in front of him. At last, his gaze fell on the knocked out assassin.

“I’ll find some rope.”

Emma must have misheard him, but he left the doorway without another word. She rubbed the blood off on her pants, peering into his room, and a minute later, he returned without the dagger, but indeed, with a bit of rope.

Good to know he kept rope in his bedroom... or something.

He stepped outside to join her, and wordlessly, they worked together to get the assassin propped up against the balcony railing, tying his hands behind his back and strapping them to one of the dense bars. As he tied the knot and she worked on tying the assassin’s feet, Killian finally spoke.

“Mind telling me why we’re strapping a darkly clad fellow to my balcony in the middle of the night?”

Emma focused on tying the knot as tightly as possible. “He was trying to kill you.” She pulled the ends of the rope, the sores on her knuckles starting to get very angry with her. “I was trying to stop him.”

Killian stopped pretending he was still fiddling with the knot, looking at her instead. “How do I know it wasn’t the other way around?”

“You wouldn’t have left your knife inside if you thought it was the other way around,” Emma said, smartly.

“I suppose you’re right about that.” Humour briefly overtook his - so far, very confounded - features. “So my next question should be, ‘why was he trying to kill me’, but I think I’m more interested in how you knew - and why you decided to intervene. Actually, how about you answer this first: just who are you, Emma?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said, the answer just slipping out. Call it a defence mechanism.

Killian was nothing but honest, if perhaps a bit hurt as he said, “Perhaps I would”.

The adrenaline that had accompanied her during the climb and the fight was beginning to fade away, and Emma just felt tired. Tired in her body, and tired of lying.

Killian deserved to know the truth.

“I’m Emma,” she started, sitting back and folding her legs out from underneath her. “But my last name isn’t Swan. It isn’t anything. I was abandoned as a baby, and I grew up on the streets. I’ve never even been outside of Misthaven, and just a few months ago, I’d never worn a ballgown.”

Emma thought he would interject, say something about how he was right about her lying or perhaps offer his sympathies for a situation he couldn’t even begin to understand. But he kept silent, waiting for her to continue.

She brought her knees to her chest, leaning against the balcony door behind her. Killian almost mirrored her position against the balcony wall, right next to the assassin, and Emma found it easier to look at the knocked-out man rather than the one looking back at her.

“I’ve done the odd jobs here and there, pickpocketing, heists, gaining information. Not the most honourable way to live, I know, but I’ve only stolen from people who can afford it, and I’ve never taken more than necessary to keep myself and some of the younger street kids alive. And then a few months ago, I was offered a job, to pose as a noblewoman and gain information about the nobility - but I don’t work for any of them. I’m not a spy for House Mills or Lord Gold or any other noble house.”

“Then who do you work for?” Killian finally spoke, and Emma knew he’d ask the question since she was trying to avoid that detail.

“I... I can’t tell you,” she said at last. “It’s not my secret to share, and I won’t break their trust. Not when I can’t be sure if I can trust you.”

“And how can I be sure I can trust _you_ , Emma?”

The silence stretched between them. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted, hating the tightness in her chest. She wanted to fight for him, wanted to be certain she wasn’t about to lose him, but she knew there was nothing to do. She couldn’t betray David. Killian had turned her away just a few hours ago, how could she trust him now? Even if she wished she could.

“Well then,” Killian said, sighing. He stood up, and the clutch inside Emma’s chest tightened worse than any corset. “Care for a drink?”

Once again, Emma was sure she’d misheard him. He stood in the doorway, a soft look in his eyes as he looked down at her. “I’ve got some rum inside,” he said with a quirk of his head. “I wager it’d be good for both of us.”

The assassin was still gone to the world, and he seemed pretty far gone at that. Killian gave another nod towards his room, before slipping through the door, leaving it open behind him. Open for _her_.

Emma rose from her spot, unsure of herself and of him, but certain that if she didn’t go through that door, she’d regret it for who knows how long.

Killian had a flask in his hand, offering it to her as soon as she entered his room. “I’d find a pair of tumblers, but this seems more like a night for drinking straight from the flask.”

Emma took the flask with a raised eyebrow and a curl of her lip. “Pirate,” she muttered.

“It seems you’re more pirate than I, love,” Killian said, and Emma did not at all feel relieved at his light humour and the way _love_ just slipped off his tongue, as if he hadn’t been trying to push her away a few hours ago.

Reminded of the way he’d said they were nothing but a _dalliance_ to be ended, Emma took a swig of the rum to conceal her frown. She needed to keep her walls up. Killian may have left the door open for her, but she couldn’t risk letting him in. Not yet.

She handed the flask back to him, and he drank a good mouthful of the rum. The liquor warmed her throat, the spices lingering on her tongue. Absentmindedly, she licked her bottom lip as she waited for Killian to swallow. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. So instead, she took the chance to survey his room.

A large canopy bed was to her left, nightstands with lit oil lamps on each side. At the foot of the bed was a chest (very pirate-like, if you asked Emma), and across the room, an open door led to what Emma could only assume was a study. Books lay strewn about on most surfaces of his bedroom, and with a colour pattern of black, white and navy blue - and a few deep reds - Emma thought the room certainly suited him. What she knew of him at least.

“So, about this assassin,” Killian spoke, drawing her attention back to him, “how did you know he’d be here?”

“Zelena told me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Zelena? And what reason would she have to tell you of something like this?”

Emma shrugged in answer. “I really don’t know. Part of me thought she might be setting a trap for me.”

“And yet you came anyway?” he asked, wonder in his voice, dare she even say admiration.

Again, Emma shrugged. “I couldn’t just let you die, could I?”

“After the way I treated you this evening, I wouldn’t have blamed you,” Killian said, the flask in his hand suddenly appearing to be very interesting to him.

“Well, you weren’t completely wrong about me. I mean, I am a spy after all. Just not for the people you thought I was.”

Killian nodded, but Emma could tell there was something on his mind. “And the people you _are_ working for...” he trailed off for a moment, looking up at her again. Emma was taken aback by the way he looked in the soft glow of candlelight. He wore his loose black shirt without a waistcoat, and his hair was ruffled as always, and _Emma was standing in his bedroom_. “They’re good people, right?” he continued. “They’re not forcing you to do anything?”

Ignoring the way her heart sped up (his bed was right _there_ ), Emma gave him a soft smile. “They’re some of the best people I’ve ever known.”

“Good,” Killian smiled back. “Perhaps I’ll get to meet them someday.”

“Hopefully, you will.”

And there they were, just smiling at each other as if they’d never been anything but good friends. Emma briefly wondered if perhaps his rum was of some unnatural strength, because she almost felt tipsy, just looking at him.

“Are you really leaving court then?” Killian asked. “I assume you won’t be leaving Misthaven altogether.”

“No, I’m not leaving Misthaven. But with the way things are at court now, alliances being formed and rivalries being worsened, I’m not really useful anymore. No one’s going to bother with a connectionless girl from the country.”

“Emma, you know I truly never cared about where you came from, right? Even now, knowing the truth. You’re a brilliant person, and I don’t believe that was ever a mere act.” He paused, licking his lips as Emma tried to calm the feelings inside her. She wasn’t used to compliments. She wasn’t used to such genuine and kind honesty. “And I apologize for the things I said to you earlier today.”

A fissure was making its way through Emma’s walls and Killian’s words were seeping through.

“Accusing me of being friends with the Mills’ and Lord Gold did seem a bit harsh,” Emma joked, trying to lighten the mood, because she couldn’t handle the seriousness in Killian’s voice. She couldn’t handle what it was doing to her carefully built defences.

“Aye, that it was,” Killian said, a smile briefly tugging at his lips. “But you must know Emma, I truly didn’t mean most of what I said. I haven’t been thinking of our time together as a mere dalliance. On the contrary I -” he stopped, perhaps realizing he was revealing too much. A part of Emma was relieved he’d stopped, but the other, bigger, part of her, hoped he’d find the courage to continue. Because it might just give her some of the courage she needed herself.

“I’m quite fond of you, Emma,” he said at last. “Possibly more than quite. All I know is I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And knowing the truth about you now - at least the truth you believe I should know - only strengthens that feeling. After all, it’s not every day the girl filtering into your every thought saves your life.”

They both smiled, but Emma could feel tears prickling at her eyes and she desperately hoped he couldn’t see it. Why would she want to cry anyway? Just because he was telling her something she’d secretly wanted to hear, just because a knot seemed to be unravelling in her stomach...

“Killian, I...” But words failed her, the walls still sturdy enough to keep her feelings locked inside. There was one thing she could do though. Instead of telling him she forgave him, or that she’d come to be fond of him as well, she stepped forward, just a single, short step. “I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For the time we’ve spent together. I wasn’t always honest about myself, but I wasn’t faking anything except being a noblewoman.”

Perhaps she’d revealed too much then, but it only seemed fair with what Killian had told her. Now she could turn around and leave with peace in her mind, or she could wait and see what he did next...

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, taking a tentative step towards her, too. “And I’d like to thank you for our time together as well. Though I do hope it hasn’t come to an end?” he added, unable to keep the questioning tone from his voice as he took one more step.

Emma’s stomach fluttered. But she found the courage she needed, and choosing to let go of her doubts, she took that last step, closing the gap between them.

She would never remember quite what happened in the following seconds. All she knew was that as soon as her lips met his, everything just felt right.

She pulled him closer by the waist, or perhaps he pulled her closer. Her right hand went up to his collarbone, soon curling over his shoulder and to the nape of his neck. He still held the flask in one hand, the metal digging into her back, but Emma couldn’t care less. She just needed _more_.

His lips were perfectly soft and warm, opening ever so slightly, letting her in. Emma lost herself in the kiss, lost herself in the bright, burning waves coursing through her. She lost herself in _him_ , and she couldn’t bring herself to worry about anything. All that mattered was this moment, and even when they pulled apart for a breath of air, neither of them wanted the moment to end.

The hand not holding the flask ended at the nape of her ponytail. She longed to let her hair free, to feel his fingers running through the strands.

Instead, she pulled away, her forehead against his. He’d begun to back her up towards his bed (or maybe she’d started pulling him along with her), but she had to be smart. Responsible. “He’s not going to be out for much longer,” she muttered, but her mind was still preoccupied with the fact that his mouth was right there. _He_ was right there. With her.

“I’ll find something heavy to knock him out with again,” Killian said, chasing her lips.

Emma smiled, wanting nothing more than to let him keep kissing her, but the rational part of her brain was starting to raise the alarms. She clenched her fist in the fabric of his shirt, but she’d forgotten about her sore knuckles, and they protested at the movement.

Of course, Killian noticed her slight flinch, and he pulled away (though he kept his arms around her). “Everything alright, love?”

“Yeah, it’s just my knuckles. You know, from the punch.”

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, Emma, I completely forgot,” he said, pulling further away, and as they slipped out of their embrace, he gently grabbed her injured hand.

“It’s alright, Killian. There was a lot going on,” Emma said, and truly, she didn’t blame him for forgetting. She hadn’t even thought of it herself.

“Aye, but that’s no excuse,” he said, checking her bruised knuckles. “It was quite the brilliant punch though.”

Emma, smiled, thanking him and oddly proud. But why shouldn’t she be proud? It _was_ a good punch. “What are we gonna do about him though?” she asked, nodding towards the balcony.

“I’ve got a good friend amongst the keep’s guards. He’ll help me deal with him, without anyone finding out.”

“So you think it’s best no one hears of the assassination attempt?”

“Aye,” Killian replied, letting her hand go and turning away, walking towards his dresser. He pulled something out as he spoke. “I can try to figure out who sent him, but until I know, I think it’s better to just show the employer I’m still alive. And in turn, not spread any panic.”

He returned to her, holding a small open jar - a salve, she gathered - and a strip of black cloth in one hand. “Here,” he said, taking her hand again.

“You don’t ha-”

“I do,” he replied, quick and simple as if he’d expected her to protest. She complied, letting him rub the salve over her knuckles, soft and gentle. Neither said anything, both too focused on the movement of his fingers. Satisfied, he placed the container on his bed, holding up the cloth and tying it around her knuckles.

“There,” he said, as soft as his touch, letting go of her hand after a second of lingering.

Emma thanked him, her voice barely more than a whisper. She longed to lean in and kiss him again, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop if she did. And she should really be heading back to the townhouse, and away from Killian’s bedroom.

“I should probably get going.”

“You sure?” he asked, a quirk in his eyebrow telling Emma he’d very much like to be kissing her again as well.

“Very,” she said, a smile forming. She turned around, heading towards the balcony door. Killian followed, prodding the assassin lightly with his foot. He was still out.

“You really climbed your way up here?” he asked, looking - and sounding - quite impressed.

“I’m a woman of many talents,” she teased. It was incredible how much the air had changed between them in fifteen minutes (or however long Emma had been there, she really didn’t know). It felt so much like they were back to who they were together before, only now it was even better. It was _true_. (Plus, the kiss was quite possibly the best Emma had ever had.)

“I’m beginning to realise how true that really is” Killian said, the look of wonder still painted on his face.

Emma _really_ needed to go now. A few more minutes, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist kissing him again. And if she kissed him again, well, who knew when she’d be able to force herself to leave?

She went to climb over the balcony wall when Killian stopped her, asking, “I’ll see you again, right? Hopefully without any assassins involved.”

Emma smiled, and although she couldn’t be sure, she _felt_ sure. “Yeah, you’ll see me again.”

“Well, then,” Killian said, looking very much as if he’d like to step forward, but he kept himself back. “Goodnight, Swan.”

The name rolled off his tongue, and Emma assumed it must be habit. “I’m not really Swan, you know.”

“I think you are; it suits you,” Killian said. Emma’s skin tingled, the compliment warming her unexpectedly.

“Goodnight, Killian,” she said, and then she swung both legs over the balcony wall, leaving him with a smile as she made her way back down to the cobblestones.

Not even the chilly wind could do anything about the warmth she brought with her home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so incredibly much for reading! Now go check out @captxinswans artwork for chapter 8 [here](http://captainswanbigbang.tumblr.com/post/180398711701/summary-pretending-to-be-a-noblewoman-might-be) and give it some love :D


	10. Unexpected dinner plans

Snow sent her several knowing looks throughout the morning. Emma pretended not to notice. She kept stifling yawns, however, as even after she came home from her “midnight run”, sleep had been all but impossible.

“It’s quite cold this morning,” Snow said, putting on a kettle while Emma finished up her porridge. “It must have been cold all night.”

“Probably,” Emma said, quickly stuffing a spoonful of porridge in her mouth. The long sleeves of her carefully chosen shirt hid the purple colour of her knuckles, but at least they didn’t hurt. (And at least she hadn’t gotten a black eye like the last time she was in a fight.)

“I hope you didn’t leave your window open. At least not too much.”

Emma swallowed, knowing very well that Snow was on to her. But she was kind in her implications, choosing to wait until David was out of the room.

“Just a sliver,” she said, eyes on her porridge.

Snow hummed. “And did everything go well?”

Emma thought of lying, pretending nothing had happened, but she knew there was no point. Instead, with a mouth conveniently full of porridge, she nodded.

She thought maybe Snow would let her off the hook there, but after a moment she asked, “You really like him, don’t you?”.

A blush was well on its way, Emma could feel it, and tried to fight it off with a mumbled “maybe”. It didn’t quite do the trick.

“You know it’s okay to like someone, Emma.”

“Even him? ‘Cause you haven’t seemed very fond of him so far,” Emma shot back.

“Which was wrong of me,” Snow said. “I’ve never met him before, only heard of him. And all the questionable things I’ve heard don’t matter compared to the trust you must have in him to save his life.”

“I’ve been wrong about people before,” Emma said lowly, almost more to herself than Snow. “I didn’t tell him, by the way. About you and David. I just let him know I was working for someone worth working for.”

“And how did he take that?” Snow asked.

“He was alright. He just wanted to be sure I hadn’t been forced into doing anything I didn’t want to do.”

“Well, he sounds like a lovely young man to me,” Snow smiled, and if Will hadn’t entered the kitchen just then, with a big and loud yawn, Emma imagined Snow would’ve started asking for details like any girlfriend would. Though probably less raunchy than the questions Ruby would come up with.

“I’m more than lovely, Snow, you know that,” Will said cheekily, headed straight for the pot of porridge, still warm over the embers.

“And humble to the bone,” Snow joked.

“No doubt about it.”

**\---------------**

After he’d finally been able to go to bed, the assassin quietly handed over to his friend and locked up in the keep dungeon, there was no hope for sleeping. He tried reading instead, hoping the words would tire him out, but he couldn’t maintain focus long enough to even finish a sentence. She’d been right _there_. She’d been in his bedchambers, she’d saved his life on the balcony, punched the daylight out of a trained killer... and Killian had kissed her, _right there_. At the foot of his bed.

He would have been surprised if he _had_ been able to fall asleep.

Only an hour before dawn, his lips still tingling with the memory of Emma’s, sleep finally came for him. However, it didn’t stay for very long. Just four hours later, he woke again, his head spinning with thoughts of golden hair and fair skin. He partly feared it had all been a dream, but the salve on the top of his dresser reassured him that Emma had actually been there. And she’d told him the truth. (And she’d kissed him.)

He lay in bed for a long while, enjoying the warmth of the covers and recalling the warmth of having Emma in his arms. He truly hoped he didn’t have to wait long to hold her again. Or to talk to her, ask her about her life - her _real_ life - and to make her laugh... He’d love to hear more about her beginnings. He cared not that she was a thief, only that life had dealt her such terrible cards that thieving was the best way for her to get by. Meanwhile, he’d never wanted for anything. He’d had food every day, a loving brother for most of his life... But Emma wouldn’t want his sympathies, Killian knew that. And he didn’t pity her as much as admire her.

She was an absolute marvel.

Thankfully, whoever she worked with seemed to be good people. Perhaps they were simply commoners, wanting to know what was going on in the enclosed circles of the nobility. Perhaps they were trying to make a better life for themselves, as Killian knew quite well that King George’s laws didn’t make for good lives. At least not for the vast majority of the population.

An hour went by, with Killian doing nothing but lie in bed. That’s when he knew he had to get out of his chambers and out of the keep, lest he waste the whole day, lost in thoughts of Emma. Though it wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the day. Not at all.

_Bloody hell, just get out of bed._

He wondered if she’d still be staying at the townhouse. In fact, as he put on his clothes and locked the door to his bedchambers, the question was at the very front of his mind. He should’ve asked her when he could. But she did say she wasn’t leaving Misthaven...

No. He’d go somewhere else, visit the assassin in a few hours after he’d been left to rot for a little while, and then maybe, _maybe_ he could take a walk to the townhouse.

The harbour was a tempting destination for his morning walk, but Killian realized he needed someone to distract him. And so, he soon found himself at _Maurice’s Bookstore._

“Something awfully good must have happened since last I saw you, Lord Killian,” Belle greeted him, a mere two seconds after spotting him amongst the books. “I haven’t seen that smile in forever.”

“Perhaps it’s merely the joy of being in your presence once more, Lady Belle.”

As always, Belle knew that Killian’s charm was only friendly meant.

“Or perhaps it has something to do with that _friend_ of yours,” Belle said, sending Killian a knowing look before returning her attention to the broken spine of a book on her desk. “I forgot to ask if she liked the paints you gave her?”

Killian actually didn’t know whether Emma had liked them or not. She’d never acknowledged them, and fearing that she’d found his gift unfavourable, Killian had never asked. Now he wondered how she’d come about painting as a thief... Or perhaps she’d only mentioned painting as a hobby because her true pastimes weren’t fitting for a lady of any station.

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “But I don’t think she was overly averse to them.”

“Hence the smile on your face?” Belle teased.

“I suppose so,” Killian said, his face no doubt resembling a proud and happy puppy. He didn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t let Belle see that though. In fact, he’d very much like to tell everyone he knew - and everyone he didn’t know - that Emma Swan _liked_ him! “You’ve had a faraway look on your face for the past few weeks as well though, Lady Belle. Care to share the reason for _your_ smiles?”

Belle stopped fiddling with the wrecked book, seemingly debating whether or not to tell Killian the secret he knew she’d been harbouring. Not two seconds later, she let the corners of her lips curl. “I suppose they’re much the same as yours.”

“I do hope it’s a different _friend_ than mine,” Killian joked.

Belle rolled her eyes at him, picking up the book once more. “I’d be highly surprised if it wasn’t, Lord Killian.”

Walking towards a shelf, browsing the books it held, Killian asked, “so how did you and this lucky lad or lass meet?”

“In a tavern, actually,” Belle answered. “He was there with his friend.”

“Beat him at a drinking game and he fell head over heels for you, did he?” Killian said, knowing very well that the short, book-loving lass wasn’t to be underestimated.

“No, he accidentally spilt some of his drink over me while telling his friend a story.”

Killian raised his brows. “He’s very lucky indeed then. I wouldn’t usually define that as a clever way to woo any woman.”

“Well, he apologized quite nicely. And I like that he’s such a lively storyteller,” Belle said, and Killian could hear the fondness in her voice. He was happy she’d found someone who made her smile like that. And then he thought of Emma, his own special smile widening once again.

“But how did you meet _your_ friend?” Belle asked while Killian continued to study the countless books on the shelves. They were quite lucky to be the only two people in the shop. “I thought you didn’t care much for the ladies at court. At least not enough to pursue any of them.”

“She only arrived a few months ago,” Killian said. “In the beginning of spring.”

_And she’s not really a lady_ , he thought of saying, the words just at the tip of his tongue. But while he trusted Belle with his life, he didn’t think it was his secret to share. He was just about to say more, describe how wonderful and witty Emma was, but the bell chimed over the door as another customer entered. So much for being the only two people in the store.

“Will!” Belle greeted from behind the desk, and Killian turned around at the familiarity in her voice. It was quite similar to the fondness that had shaped her words just moments before.

The bloke in the door had his own doting smile. He looked charming enough, Killian supposed, his clothes clean if a bit ruffled. “Morning, love!”

“Is everything alright?” Belle asked, the broken book completely forgotten.

“It’s more than alright! Just poppin’ by to ask if you’d fancy some dinner tonight? With me, I mean,” the bloke, _Will_ , asked, adding the clarification with a hint of shyness that didn’t quite fit the confident way he carried himself. But Killian supposed the right girl could make any lad feel unsure of himself. He knew it all too well, actually.

“I’d love to!” Belle answered. And then, suddenly remembering Killian’s presence, hurried to introduce the two of them. “Lord Killian, this is Mr. Will Scarlet. And Will, this is Lord Killian Jones.”

Will’s face took on an odd expression that Killian had trouble deciphering. Surprise? Enlightenment? Perhaps even a bit of judgement as well. “Ah, so you’re the Lord Killian bloke! I’ve heard about you.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, Will’s a coachman,” Belle quickly began explaining, but she sent Will a brief look that made Killian wonder if she was hiding something. “He works for a young Lady Emma Swan, she just came to Misthaven a few months ago. In the beginning of spring...”

Belle trailed off, puzzle pieces falling together inside her head. Meanwhile, Killian’s head had already connected the dots, and he stared at Will, unable to quite comprehend this new piece of information.

Belle’s sweetheart worked with Emma. This Will must know why Emma had been spying on the nobility, and he’d helped her do it.

What _could_ Killian do with this information? Did Belle know Will’s true job? And was he a good person, or was he lying to Belle, perhaps even exploiting her trust?

“ _They’re some of the best people I’ve ever known,”_ Emma had said. And Killian had believed her. He _did_ believe her. Still, meeting Will Scarlet was throwing him for a bit of a loop.

“What was the name of your friend?” Belle asked, hesitantly.

Will answered before Killian could, perfectly chipper, “Emma Swan, I imagine.”

“Aye. Small world, is it not?” Killian said, half-heartedly trying to make light of things.

“She saved your life last night, didn’t she?” Will asked, and the frankness of the question surprised both Killian and, especially, Belle.

“What?”

The three all looked at each other, each knowing bits of the story that the others didn’t, and each clearly aware of it.

“Perhaps some explaining would be in order,” Killian said at last. And he was quite right about that.

**\---------------**

For an hour, Belle, Will and Killian tried their best to wrap their heads around the full story. The explanations were made difficult with the odd customer entering the store, rendering all three of them silent. Well, Belle was quick to help said costumer. And Killian wasn’t sure if Will even knew how to be entirely silent.

However, Will did know the true cause for his and Emma’s work - and their employer. Upon hearing that Emma had elected to wait with telling Killian, Will decided to do the same. “You might as well just meet them yourself, eh? You too, Belle.”

It seemed Belle had known about Will’s purpose for the last week, after the guilt of sharing her gossip of the nobility without her consent became too much for him. But she, too, was in the dark about the person he and Emma worked for. She only knew he was important towards giving the people of the Enchanted Forest a better future, and she’d therefore offered to tell Will some more of what she knew of the nobility. But so far, as their relationship was still new, Will didn’t want her to feel he was exploiting her.

Killian appreciated him a bit more for that.

“I suppose that’s why you’ve heard of me then,” he said to Will.

“Actually, I haven’t talked about you at all,” Belle said. He couldn’t help but feel a little wounded. “Well, I have talked about you, but not by name. I don’t gossip about my close friends.”

“It’s good we’re all such a loyal bunch,” Will said cheerfully, although Killian detected a hint of sarcasm. He couldn’t help but agree though; it was nice to know that everyone was loyal to each other, although when it hindered communication, it did get infuriating.

Another customer - an elderly lady with a large hat - entered, and the conversation took a break once again.

“Emma’s been the one talking about you,” Will told Killian, as they waited for Belle to return.

He didn’t know why, but his ears turned pink.

“Good things, I hope.”

“Compared to what others say about you, she made you sound like a bloody saint,” Will said, causing Killian to frown. It was nice, of course, to know that Emma wasn’t speaking ill of him (it was more than nice, it was absolutely elating), but for once, his poor reputation was getting to him.

When Belle returned, Will seemed to have had enough of all the explanations. “Just come over for dinner. Things oughta straighten themselves out there. And I wager you wouldn’t mind seeing Emma again.”

And well, Killian couldn’t argue with that.

**\---------------**

As he left _Maurice’s Bookstore_ with newly acquired dinner plans, Killian pondered an unasked question. Why did Will and Emma feel the need to keep their friend secret? They both claimed the person had nothing but good intentions, and yet they wouldn’t let Belle or Killian know who this person was.

Killian had an idea though.

Two weeks ago, stories of the exiled prince’s return had begun to spread through Misthaven. Some believed the tale more than others, and up until now, Killian hadn’t given it much thought. But he knew that Liam had always thought Prince David would be an excellent king. And when George had exiled his own son, Liam hadn’t agreed with the decision. Loyalty towards his monarch had kept him from speaking up though.

“ _I can’t claim to know everything, Killian, and it would be unwise of me to make any protests without knowing the full story_ ,” Liam had said. After that, Killian had stopped thinking much of Prince David at all.

But if David really had returned, and Liam was right about him having the potential for being a good king, perhaps he was the person Emma and Will wanted to keep secret.

_I suppose you’ll find out tonight,_ he thought. But now, he supposed, it was time to needle some answers from the man who had tried to kill him a mere twelve hours ago.

**\---------------**

The last time all the furniture had been pushed to the walls in the drawing room, Emma hadn’t been too happy. Learning how to dance just hadn’t been her favourite. Though she did enjoy dancing at balls, she supposed. Still- it wasn’t her favourite.

Practising sword fighting, however, put Emma in a much better mood.

David had been feeling restless lately, staying inside more than before - an expected downside of spreading the rumour of his return. When Emma found him polishing his sword in the living room, he’d looked a bit embarrassed.

“Sorry, I’m not usually so particular about shiny swords, it’s just, well,” he had sighed, “there’s really not much to do around here.”

Emma could definitely agree with that. Everyone else seemed to have things to do in the city, and she had just been on her way to kill time at Ruby’s (and hopefully stop thinking of Killian), but a much better idea popped into her mind.

Snow would probably have a fit if she saw them now. Or join in. You never really knew with Snow.

“Another go?” David asked, after Emma landed on the carpet for the second time. She would have bruises for sure, and she was already feeling sore from her “midnight stroll”, but she couldn’t exactly tell David about that. Not yet, at least.

“Give me a go with a pair of daggers and we’ll see if you’re still smiling like that,” she grumbled instead.

David merely laughed, saying he didn’t doubt that one bit. “But it doesn’t hurt you to learn something new.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at that, silently pointing out that _he_ could learn something new with the daggers.

As she got up from the floor, raising the blunted sword and ready to beat the exiled prince, the door to the drawing room opened. Emma and David turned their heads, both looking sheepish.

Robin looked back at them, seemingly questioning if he even bothered to ask them why on earth they were sparring in the drawing room.

“Might I suggest a bow and arrow next?” he said at last, in jest of course. “Aim for that fine painting over there? Or the vase?”

Emma and David lowered their swords as one.

“We’ll find something else to do,” David said, sounding very much like he’d been caught red-handed by his parents.

They set about pushing all the furniture back in place, and Emma couldn’t help but smile at the fact that they’d really been sparring inside. She really hoped David ended up as king soon; it would certainly be a story to share at the taverns if he did.

It was nearing lunchtime as they finished tidying up the drawing room. Once again, Emma thought of going to Ruby’s. There was the odd chance that Killian might be there with his friends again... but the odds of that were very slim, so Emma resigned herself to visiting his balcony again if she couldn’t fall asleep in the evening. At least just to establish a way to see him again. And perhaps kiss him again... The sword practice had only just been enough to get that kiss out of her head.

Robin and David had started preparing some lunch in the kitchen when Snow came home, and she quickly joined in. Emma, however, had been barred from any kind of cooking since a certain _incident_ during her first two weeks in the townhouse. It wasn’t _her_ fault she’d never had a kitchen before. Or a fire stove.

As if it were a sixth sense of his, Will came home just as lunch was finished.

“Out visiting Miss Belle again?” Robin asked. He’d told them all about Will’s new lady friend a few weeks ago, after his half-promise to keep her a secret wore too thin.

“Yep,” Will said, sitting down and pulling his chair in with a few scuffles. “Ran into a fellow there, and not just any fellow.”

“Who?” asked Snow.

“Why, Lord Killian Jones! Alive and handsome - though lookin’ a bit on the sleepy side of things.” He sent Emma a knowing look at the last part.

“Yes, Snow’s contact informed us he hadn’t been harmed,” David said, apparently oblivious to the way Emma bowed her head to hide her blush. “Though I’m sure Emma could’ve told us the same.”

“What?” Emma asked, a bit too quickly. Apparently he wasn’t so oblivious after all.

“Emma,” David said, and she couldn’t quite tell if he was angry or offended that she’d think he wouldn’t have guessed what she’d done. “You’ve been pulling your shirt over your hand all day, but I’ve seen the bruises on your knuckles. I know you went to help Lord Killian.”

Emma thought he might say more, chide her for putting their plans at risk. She would’ve let him speak out and then say her part. Both of them deserved to have their say. However, it seemed David had nothing more to add, biting into a piece of bread.

“I didn’t tell him about you. He knows I’m a spy, but I didn’t tell him anything about you,” Emma said. She needed to make it clear, that while making sure Killian was alright was important to her, so was David and his plans.

And his trust.

“Me neither,” Will said, and everyone was a bit surprised about him joining in. “Though I did tell him and Belle to come over for dinner.”

He popped a piece of chicken - leftover from last evening’s dinner - into his mouth. No one said anything. Looking up to see everyone staring at him, he shrugged. “What? It turned out they were good mates. And if I trust Belle and she trusts Killian, and we all trust Emma, and _she_ trusts Killian – well, we always planned to make new friends, right? I’d wager these two are about as good as we can get.”

“I suppose so,” David said, hesitantly. “But maybe you should’ve asked us all before inviting someone over.”

Will just shrugged again. “It’s not like they don’t know where we are. We could just bar the doors and windows if that’ll please ya.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Snow cut in.

Emma could see David considering it though. “ _Maybe just keep the bars up for him,_ ” he muttered.

Snow sent him a pointed look at that. “You haven’t seen Lord Killian in seven years, David - even then, I’m certain you didn’t know him. So you have nothing to judge him for except rumours. But from what Emma’s told us, I think he deserves a chance - he could be a big help to us as well.”

“Well, there’s no stopping it now,” David said, simply. Emma wanted to say something, reassure him once again that Killian was a good man - he was even reading books on political theories aligned with David’s ideals!

But maybe it was better to let Killian speak for himself.

Emma finished her lunch with an odd feeling. Obviously, she was excited about seeing Killian again soon - and that she wouldn’t have to climb a balcony to do so. But she had no idea what might happen when David and Killian were in the same room, and she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being fantastic people, and reading this, and leaving fantastic comments that make me smile even on the most troublesome days. Seriously, thank you. Also, thank you @forget-me-not-s for helping me turn this into an actual story and not just a vague idea.


	11. A clash of worlds

For the past months, Killian’s life had been a whirlwind. The signs of dealings between his father and Lord Gold had made him wary, and meeting Emma had turned his world around in a most unimaginable way. Then, King George had fallen ill, which only succeeded in putting everyone on edge – bloody hell, someone had even tried to assassinate him! However, Killian hadn’t been too shocked by the attempt on his life – Emma saving him had rather overshadowed the assassination itself.

Now, Killian stood at the door to a townhouse about forty minutes away from his home on foot. Belle stood by his side, giving him some comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone. She, too, found the whole ordeal rather strange, but simultaneously, it felt like they were at the cusp of something important. Something likely to be historical even.

“Nothing to do but knock, I suppose,” Killian said, stepping forth to do just that. He took hold of the door knocker, banging it thrice against the wood, and that simple action alone lifted Killian’s spirits. He was no longer standing in the corner, reading books or discussing politics with his friends. He wasn’t just scowling at Lord Gold from afar or confronting his father with no clear plan. No, coming here to the townhouse gave Killian a sense of control, a feeling that he didn’t have to be passive anymore.

The door opened.

Killian came face to face with Emma, and at once, all control, every concept he ever had of anything, just blew away. Her soft curls fell against her shoulders and down her back, a simple knit sweater and a pair of trousers keeping her warm. He’d seen her in ballgowns and in tight, dark garments fit for a thief, but the sight of her in such comfortable and common clothes didn’t fail to take his breath away. She was simply stunning. And as she smiled softly at him, everything seemed to settle down inside him, but in a much better way than before.

She really was turning his life upside down.

(And he couldn’t be happier about it.)

“Hi,” she said, her eyes quickly turning to his right. “You must be Belle.”

“Yes, I am. And I guess you must be Emma?”

“Yeah.” Her hand lingered on the side of the door. “Yeah, uh, come on in.”

Killian and Belle followed her inside the foyer, and he could sense that Emma found the situation strange as well. Awkward was perhaps a more fitting word.

“So, uh,” Emma began to say, but what she meant to tell Killian and Belle would never be known, as Will entered the foyer in just that moment.

“Belle! Lord Killian! Glad you could make it!” He pressed a light kiss to Belle’s cheek and Killian wondered what it might be like to greet Emma in such a way. Absolutely brilliant, that’s what it would be. He caught her looking at him, and the blush added to the quick aversion of her gaze made him wonder if she was thinking along the same lines.

Killian was quickly thrown out of such thoughts as Will made to kiss his cheek instead. In jest, obviously, but Killian kept him away with an outstretched hand.

“Were you always a coachman?” he couldn’t help but ask. Such behaviour didn’t exactly seem fitting for a man used to working with nobles.

Another man answered as he entered the room. “For the past many years, yes.” Killian recognized Emma’s steward from the balls - Robin, was it? “Unfortunately, our employer, the Dowager Lady of Sherwood was a bit too encouraging towards Will’s boyish indecorum.”

“But at least she kept him out of the worst sorts of trouble,” another voice said, this one belonging to a woman with long black hair, half of it pinned behind her head. She had pale skin and a beautiful, kind face.

Killian looked at Will, whose ears were turning the colour of his surname. Having friends discuss you in front of a lady you were halfway in love with was bound to cause a bit of embarrassment.

“And I’m sure you already know he can be a perfect gentleman when it counts,” the dark-haired woman smiled at Belle.

“When it counts?” Will repeated, offended. Belle merely laughed and said he’d been lovely so far, the compliment only succeeding in further reddening Will’s ears.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Belle,” the woman said. “I’m Snow, a former maid at House Sherwood. And you must be Lord Killian Jones,” Snow said, gracing him with her warm smile. “I’m very happy to meet you as well.”

Killian nodded in respect, returning the polite greeting.

“Emma and Will have told us a lot about the two of you - all good things, I promise - so it’s only fair I tell you what role I play in the scheme of things,” Snow said. “I’m the one who initially asked Emma to infiltrate the noble court in order to help my fiancé.”

“Your fiancé?” Killian asked, wondering if the man would be present this evening as well.

“Yes. And I’m afraid things could go terribly wrong if his identity is revealed to the wrong people, which is why Emma and Will have been so cautious. But I’m sure our trust in you isn’t misplaced.” Snow could have made the statement sound questioning or even threatening, but her words were nothing but genuine.

“And I’m sure that with all of this secrecy, you may as well already have guessed who he is,” Emma said, wryly.

“Aye, well, I have an idea,” Killian admitted.

“And do I live up to that idea?” In the doorway stood a man with longer hair than Killian had imagined, but it was the same shade of blonde, and though there was a bit more stubble than he remembered from seven years ago, the face was the same.

“Prince David,” Killian greeted, bowing his head.

“Well, exiled prince anyway,” David said. “Though I don’t mind the gesture.”

Killian heard a faint snort come from Emma.

“So the rumours of your return were true after all,” Belle said. While Killian was sure she had had an idea that she was about to meet Prince David, she sounded more awed than he’d expected. Then again, Belle hadn’t met any of the royal family before - only the book-enthusiastic nobles such as himself.

“Yes. Although the reasons for my return seem to have drifted away from the truth in most of the retellings.”

“Not here to place dung-beetles from Agrabah under the pillows of all who wronged you?” Killian asked humorously. He’d enjoyed hearing that one.

“Not all, at least,” David said. But there was only a slight hint of amusement in his tone as he stood there with crossed arms. Or perhaps Killian just wanted to think there was some amusement there.

“Right, well, moving on from the topic of dung-beetles, I think supper is just about ready,” Robin said, clapping Killian on the shoulder before heading through the door from which he’d come. Killian assumed the clap was another way of saying ‘good luck’.

Snow went to help Robin, but David made no move to go anywhere, still surveying Killian with his arms crossed. Killian allowed himself to survey the exiled prince in return.

Emma looked between the two, unsure of what to do or say. Thankfully, Will decided to break the silence by clearing his throat in a very non-subtle manner. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’ll be heading in the direction of the food.”

Taking Belle’s hand like the gentleman Snow said he could be, Will led her to the dining room. David made to follow them, but he didn’t seem keen on leaving Killian and Emma alone with each other. While Killian wanted nothing more than a moment alone with her - a chance to tell her how stunning she looked, or perhaps lay that kiss on her cheek (or her lips) - he thought it best to humour David, who, apparently, didn’t seem to like him all that much.

**\----------**

Emma didn’t know her parents, and had never really known what a family was either. She’d been a part of a few thieving crews, but had never stuck around for long. The crews she had found had just never been worth staying for; getting attached was not something Emma made a habit of.

But the crew she had found in David, Snow, Robin and Will - and Ruby, too - was special. She couldn’t see herself leaving them behind easily. And when Killian entered the townhouse, she couldn’t help but feel like she was introducing him to her family.

David certainly took the role of disapproving father to heart.

Killian complimented the townhouse, and Snow informed him it was owned by her godmother Johanna, while she brought in a pot of stew. She apologized for the simplicity of the meal, explaining that their funds were small, and they had greater priorities than rich food.

“Nonsense, Lady Snow, it smells heavenly,” Killian said, and Belle agreed. Both offered to help with any last-minute things, but Snow waved them off, telling them to sit.

Emma took her seat next to Killian’s, wishing they could have had a moment to themselves. The awkward greeting in the foyer just hadn’t felt like a real ‘hello’.

Robin came in with a warm, sliced loaf of bread and a flagon of wine. He set both down on the centre of the table before taking his own seat. At the townhouse, they were all equals. Despite previous or false titles, none waited on others, but everyone helped each other.

Snow offered Belle the first serving, and soon everyone was eating, but unanswered questions lingered in the air, making for a strained meal. Emma took a few heavy gulps of wine, hoping to calm her nerves.

Finally, Killian said, “I presume I know the answer, but perhaps someone could clarify the reason you’re all in Misthaven, infiltrating the court no less?”

And so they all began explaining.

**\----------**

 “George’s illness has been a complete coincidence - whether fortunate or unfortunate, we don’t yet know,” David said at last.

Emma looked at Killian and Belle. Neither of them looked like they were about to bolt from the table, and she supposed that was a good sign. Still, she was well aware of how crazy their plan sounded. And it wasn’t much of a plan anymore - at least not a detailed one.

“It’s causing agitation amongst everyone, for sure,” Killian commented.

“About that - have you learned anything from the assassin?” Emma asked.

“He hasn’t been very forthcoming as of yet.” Killian’s grip on his spoon tightened, and Emma could only imagine what it might feel like, knowing someone out there had paid to have him killed. It certainly angered her to the point that she’d gladly knock the assassin around a bit more until he started speaking. “After a few days without food and water, however, he might reconsider his loyalties.”

“Isn’t there a way to get him talking faster?” Emma asked, unsure if they had time to wait around for a few days.

“Aside from physical torture or bribery?”

“Well, if you offered a large enough sum, and he refuses to speak, we’d know that his employer is either rich enough to offer more, or powerful enough to frighten him into silence,” Snow said.

“Which would likely mean Cora or Gold.”

Emma sensed those two were already high on Killian’s list of suspects.

“I still wonder what anyone would gain from your death - and what Zelena had to gain from informing Emma about it,” David said.

“Why, David, I’m flattered you think no one would prosper from my death.” Killian sat up a bit straighter, smiling widely at David.

“Don’t push it.”

“A rival of House Jones would gain from having your father rattled and without a direct heir, just as the decision of the regent is to be made,” Robin said, answering David’s former question.

“While my father has always been interested in wealth, he’s never been much for power though. I’m not sure he’d even want to be king regent.”

“Fear is still a powerful tool,” David said. “Having an important noble figure murdered would cause panic amongst the nobility, and whoever manages to calm everyone down would be favoured in an election.”

Emma couldn’t imagine anyone being better at calming down a crowd than David. Cora and Gold would only unsettle her further. Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely that everyone amongst the nobility thought so.

She finished the last of her bread, having absent-mindedly torn it into small pieces during the conversation. She wasn’t one to waste crumbs like that normally.

Snow noted that everyone had finished eating, suggesting they move to the drawing room. A pot of tea - and a few cups of hot chocolate - couldn’t hurt anybody.

Once seated in the comfortable couches, Emma in the same armchair as always, though now with Killian sitting in the one next to it, the conversation turned to the future. They still needed to figure out how David could make his appeal to the nobles, after all. At least without being seized by guards first.

“So far we’ve just been focused on sorting out allies and foes,” David said. “But it seems the time for playing it safe is over.”

Emma rolled her eyes at the way he glowered at Killian from behind his cup of chocolate.

Killian seemed to notice the snide of David’s remark as well. After all, it wasn’t the first of its type that David had thrown his way.

“I’m sorry, mate, but what is it I’ve done to cause you to have such little faith in me?” Killian finally asked, the question having weighed him down since the first scowl he’d been treated to.

David didn’t even need time to think about how to answer. “You’re a young man with a reputation for trouble - drinking, lacking propriety and flirting with every girl you see. The passions of young nobles like you can change as quickly as you can turn your heads; so in short, _mate,_ you’re unreliable.”

“David!” Snow admonished.

“No, it’s alright,” Killian told her, although David’s words had a way of making him feel like shit. They were true after all. But only partly. “He’s just speaking his mind. And I know that’s what people tend to think of me, but they also tend to forget that losing your brother - your hero - is something only alcohol seems to remedy. And that my lack of propriety is a lack of interest in the small things nobles find so important. I’m bloody well spending my time at balls reading books on politics, discussing ideals with my mates, ideals _you_ seem to believe in! And I’ve never felt the way I do about Emma, and I value the trust she’s put in me more than anything else, but sure, I can see why you’d think me _unreliable_.”

The cup in his hands was ready to break under the pressure of his grip by the end, and Killian had no clue where those words had come from. They’d just spilled out. And while he wished he could take them back, that he could have kept his temper in check, he felt a sense of relief at having let it out.

Surprise washed over David’s features, giving way to something that looked like guilt. “I’m sorry, Killian. Captain Liam Jones was a good man - and no doubt an equally great brother.”

The fact that David knew - and remembered - Liam’s preference for being called Captain rather than Lord, touched Killian in a way he never would have expected.

“Aye, he was the best man I’ve ever known. And he always believed that you would make a great king someday. As do I.”

David took his words for what they were - honesty. “And I’m sure you’ll do your best to help me make it there.”

“I will.”

**\----------**

The evening had grown late, and everyone was tired after the hours of conversation. Inviting Killian and Belle over had been worth it though, especially after an understanding formed between David and Killian. Emma kept replaying Killian’s words in her mind, the emotions so clear on his face as he spoke. There was nothing but honesty there.

“You know I feel the same, right?” Emma asked. She’d pulled Killian aside, leading him into her bedroom for a moment alone to say goodbye. “That this... it’s so different from anything else I’ve ever felt. Good different. It’s like...”

She trailed off, incapable of describing it. Killian probably could. Growing up as a gentleman and reading all those books gave him a language like no other, but this time, she didn’t give him a chance to use it.

She just leaned forward and kissed him.

Emma doubted she’d ever tire of kissing Killian. And it wasn’t lost on her that once again, there was a bed right next to them. _Her_ bed.

Killian was the one to pull away, but he kept his forehead against hers, his nose still right next to hers. “I probably shouldn’t push my luck too far with David by staying in here for too long.”

Emma laughed. “No, I’d rather not have to see him drag you out of here and throw you on the curb.”

But both of them were a bit too weak, leaning in for one more chaste kiss.

This time when they pulled away, Emma made sure to take a small step back, just to limit the temptation (as if that were truly possible). Killian seemed to notice something over her shoulder and he nodded towards it.

“Are those the paints I sent you?”

Although she knew the answer, reflex had her looking over her shoulder to see the paints lying on her desk. “Yeah. I never got to thank you for them - it was a very sweet thought.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Killian said, a hand going up to scratch a spot behind his ear. “But I suppose you might not paint that much after all.”

A smile got the better of her lips at his understanding. “No, I’m afraid that was one of the lies I had to tell. I didn’t really think scouring for food or shelter, or climbing buildings was a good answer for a lady.”

Killian smiled as well. “No, perhaps not. But I’d love to hear the real stories someday. Anything you’d wish to share.”

“Perhaps I should tell you the story of what really happened when I was away for those two weeks.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow.

“Some other time,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes, trying to turn him back towards the door.

“Swan, you can’t send me away with a mystery such as that!” he pouted, doing his best to sound as dramatic as possible.

Emma laughed. “I can and I will. Now hurry before David comes and throws you out.”

Killian gave her his best puppy dog face. And she had to admit, it was rather good. “How about instead, you show me your work? I see you’ve opened the paints.”

Emma’s face reddened at the thought of the painting hidden in her wardrobe. “I didn’t paint anything,” she lied. “I just opened them for fun.”

Killian saw right through her. “A _really_ quick glimpse?”

“I threw it away.”

He just kept looking at her, and Emma knew he wasn’t likely to let it go. Maybe a kiss could distract him... but it was bound to distract her as well.

“Fine. But promise me you won’t laugh.”

“I swear on everything I hold dear,” Killian said. Emma shook her head at his antics, turning to find the painting in the wardrobe.

“Here - just a quick glimpse.”

The puzzled look on his face wasn’t really something she could blame him for.

“It’s lovely... a flower, right?”

Emma sighed. “A swan actually.”

“Oh... oh yeah, I can see-”

“Just shut up and go,” Emma said, rolling her eyes at him. He was sweet - too damned sweet.

He stepped over to give her one last kiss. Leaving her with every nerve buzzing and her knees weak, he looked just about as wrecked as she felt.

“As you wish.”

**\----------**

With Killian as a part of the team now, Emma felt lighter than she had in weeks. Possibly her entire life. She’d didn’t sleep easier though, her head too full of thoughts. Thoughts of Killian, of the plan and the assassin starving in the cells of Keep Jones.

Still, just knowing that she’d be seeing Killian again soon - without pretenses of a ball - brought a smile to her face at any moment.

And that’s when she knew she had to be careful.

Good things just didn’t happen to Emma. Her own parents didn’t want to keep her, and since then, it seemed no one in the world wanted to. She had spent years doubting that Granny and Ruby actually wanted her around, and when she’d finally come to believe it, Granny had died. Thieving crews had come and gone, people, opportunities... nothing ever stuck.

Who was to say the bonds she’d made the past few months were stronger than her bad luck?

Two evenings after Killian’s initial meeting with David’s crew, they had planned for Killian to bring over Thomas, Phillip and Eric. Killian was sure they’d support David. He wouldn’t have suggested letting them in on the plan if he wasn’t.

First though, he had to explain things on his own, as regretfully, they all still believed Emma to be a spy for someone less agreeable.

Six hours before the young lords were meant to arrive, Emma was putting on her boots, ready for lunch at The Red Wolf. When Ruby had heard there’d been a dinner with Killian, but _without_ her, she hadn’t been too happy. Words like “betrayal” had been thrown around. No matter that she’d been too busy running the tavern anyways. But now, on top of making sure she’d be able to dine with them in the evening, Emma thought a lunchtime visit was a nice consolation.

She never made it out of the door though.

Snow came barging in, looking all for the world like she’d been chased by a ghost. Upon seeing Emma, she stopped to catch her breath. “Good. You’re still here.”

“Yes?” Emma’s gut twisted. “Is everything alright?”

“Is everyone else here, too?” Snow asked before having time to even register Emma’s question.

Emma nodded. “In the drawing room. Snow, what’s -”

But Snow had already left for the drawing room, and Emma sensed she’d get her answers if she followed. From the look on Snow’s face, however, she was sure that things definitely weren’t alright.

She hadn’t made it past the doorway before Snow spoke to all of them.

“King George is dead.”

 

 

**\----------**

 

 

 _King George is dead_. The words echoed in Killian’s head and all around him, as no one talked about anything else. Servants whispered in the halls and the guards exchanged concerns for the future.

The king was dead, and there was no one to replace him.

Just two days ago, Killian had been sitting in a townhouse, trying to make plans for Prince David’s appearance at the council meeting. The meeting that would determine the future of the land. But now, the meeting had never been held, and people were already panicking.

Which, of course, was the perfect opportunity for Lord Gold.

Killian sent word for his friends as quickly as possible. There was no time to wait for dinner plans - they had to make _real_ plans, important plans, and they had to do it before Gold managed to convince everyone that a quick vote with himself as the winner was the best course of action.

Killian would rather die than see that crocodile on the throne.

With the prince’s permission, Killian had told his friends about David and his hopes to take the throne - and Emma’s part in it all. All three of them had apologized. Especially Eric had been rather guilt-stricken. Killian wouldn’t deny that he took pleasure in seeing his friends so regretful, be he knew holding grudges against his best friends would be a terrible mistake. They had only been trying to look out for him after all.

And now, together, all of them would try to look out for the future of the country. They had the chance to turn George’s death into something truly good - a future where the land could prosper, where the people were given choices and support. A future where less people had to live the way Emma did.

They gathered in the townhouse, the drawing room soon becoming terribly crowded with nobles and commoners, all united in one goal. Killian sent word for his friends amongst the knights and the guard; Phillip, Thomas and Eric did the same. They sent for Aurora and Ella, the young lady Grace and her father, Lord Jefferson, as well. Ruby and her barmaids did everything they could to spread word amongst the people, to walk the streets and shout for King David.

There was so much to do, so much uncertainty and danger to face, and so little time.

But surrounded by friends and strangers who wanted nothing more than the good of the people, Killian _had_ to believe it would work. He was a born pessimist, so perhaps Snow’s speeches were getting to him, or perhaps it was having Emma at his side that made him feel invincible. It mattered not. The only thing that mattered was that David succeeded.


	12. A new monarch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it - we're coming to an end! Just this and an epilogue left. I hope you all enjoy the way this story ends, and I want to thank you so much for sticking with me and enjoying what you've read so far!!

The Enchanted Forest had been without a monarch for two days. Taverns echoed with the sounds of cheers and glasses clinking together, the commoners celebrating the death of a despised king. But though their evenings were spent in celebration, their days were no less hard. The death of a king didn’t magically change the world. No, only the monarch to follow had such power.

The archbishop, Archibald Jimmons had advised waiting until the day after George’s burial to appoint the regent. But with five days to go, one of the priests presented the archbishop with a letter written by the late king. A letter appointing Lord Gold as the king regent, signed by six of the eleven heads of the Great Houses.

And so, Lord Gold was to be the ruler of the land until Prince James’ 16th birthday.

“Eleven years with another tyrant on the throne,” Ruby shook her head. “There won’t be anyone left alive by the end of it.”

“Is one letter really enough? Can they just skip the council meeting?” Emma asked.

They sat in the drawing room, more people sitting at the round table than there had been in all of the months Emma had lived in the townhouse.

“With those signatures, it seems they’ve already had the meeting. Just in secret,” David said in defeat. He almost seemed apologetic, as if it were his fault. Or perhaps he was sorry to have given everyone false hope.

Killian had been silent so far, but from the way his jaw ticked, Emma knew he was fuming. No doubt because his father’s signature had been on the damned letter.

“I think that letter reeks of deception,” Ella said, surprising Emma. Obviously, she knew that Ella was on their side, but as of yet, she hadn’t said much. She almost seemed surprised to have spoken herself, a faint blush tinting her cheeks as every eye turned to her. But she didn’t let herself be deterred. “Everyone’s afraid of Lord Gold. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to get anyone to sign anything.”

“So we just need everyone to stop being afraid of him. Sure, sounds like a walk in the bloody park,” Will said.

“Walking wouldn’t be required as much as standing up - standing up to Lord Gold,” Sir Lancelot said. He had been a good friend of David’s seven years ago. When David was exiled, Lancelot had been prepared to leave with him, but David had bid him to stay, to not break his oath. “If one person is strong enough to publicly refuse Lord Gold, others will follow. And the more that follow, the stronger everyone else will become as well.”

“Well, we’re a bunch of people right here who wouldn’t mind standing up to him. Right?” Emma said.

“Aye, love.”

“Yes,” said David.

“Absolutely,” said Snow. Everyone else chimed in, some just with a nod, but it was no less meaningful.

“Well, Gold’s not wearing the crown yet,” Emma said. “But we should probably pick a moment before he does.”

**\--------------------**

The best moment, it seemed, was just in the nick of time. They needed the nobles gathered in one spot, and they needed a chance for all of them to see and hear David speak.

So, of course, the ceremony held in Prince James’ and his appointed regent Lord Gold’s honour was the obvious choice.

The evening before the ceremony, tension was thick in the small townhouse. A few of their newfound friends had stayed for dinner, putting the final touches on their plan. Nothing could ever assure the plan to be airtight, however. Not even years of consideration. No, their fates tomorrow rested in the hands of fortune - good or bad - and even the best-laid plan could fall short to ill timing.

Emma doubted she’d be getting any sleep. And if by some miracle she _did_ manage to fall asleep, she expected it to be restless. So when the guests of the townhouse began saying their goodbyes, Emma pulled Killian aside, under the guise of wanting to show him something.

She did in fact wish to show him something. Spending time with him was her true motive though, and Killian knew it. But he wished for nothing more himself.

Emma led him to her bedroom, ignoring the lift of his eyebrow. She said nothing as she opened the door, merely walked straight through the room towards the window. Only when she had opened the window did she turn to face him.

“How good are you at climbing?”

With amusement and a hint of surprise Killian asked, “going on an adventure, are we?”

“Just a little one.” Emma nodded towards the world outside, a gust of wind playing with the hair that had fallen loose from her braid. She swung her legs over the window frame, grasping at the upper ledge with her hand before climbing upwards.

Killian followed, his heart already knowing he would follow her anywhere.

Emma couldn’t resist setting a quick pace. She looked down at Killian below her, laughing at his less than graceful exit from the window. But he soon found his grip, a steady one at that.

“This may be your territory, Swan, but I’ll have you know I’m quite adept at climbing masts and riggings.”

Emma reached the ledge of the roof, pulling herself up. “I’m sure you are.”

Moments later, Killian joined her where she sat with her legs hanging of the ledge. The roof had a gentle slope, perfect for stargazing.

“Quite the view you have up here,” Killian said, his voice barely more than a whisper. The city had not gone to sleep yet, faint sounds of life still carrying through the breeze. Still, there was a peaceful quiet on the rooftop that Emma, too, would be reluctant to break.

“I’m sure it’s even better from the tower of your keep.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that,” Killian said, the moonlight allowing her to see his smile. “The company here is certainly much better than it has ever been in the tower.”

Emma wasn’t sure how to respond, unused to such compliments although Killian had given her many during the past week. Instead, they sat in silence, and it was perfect in itself. Both of them revelled in the chance to simply be together.

The wind was cold, but Emma didn’t want to leave, not even to fetch a blanket as Killian suggested. Besides, it gave them a reason to sit closely. Emma began telling him stories of her time spent on the roofs of Misthaven, how they offered a sense of freedom, but also safety. Shelter. She wasn’t quite aware what prompted her to share those memories, but she didn’t even have to ponder her words as she talked. In turn, Killian told her stories of his journeys at sea. He hadn’t been sailing since Liam’s death, and one would have to be blind to not see how much he missed it. He’d always hoped to become captain one day, but now...

“I would love to take you out sometime,” he said, her hand in his and resting on his thigh. “See the stars on the open sea. See if you’re as skilled on the masts as you are scaling buildings,” he teased.

“I’d like that,” Emma said, the soft smile on her lips giving way to a soft kiss shared between them. Both knew they couldn’t get carried away on the edge of the roof, but Emma found it easier to forget that when he tugged at her lip. His hand was warm against her neck, his fingertips tangling in her hair, loosening her braid even further. A shiver ran through her and he smiled against her lips.

“Cold, love?”

Emma gave a sound of denial, though it could also have been a moan begging for _more_. And Killian was helpless to refuse her.

When they finally pulled away from each other, Emma’s head found a place on his shoulder, his arm curling around her. Right then, Emma completely forgot everything tomorrow would bring. Time stood still, dawn ages away it seemed.

They shared more stories between them, kisses and small conversation. But no matter Emma’s wishes, dawn wouldn’t stay away forever. She could only hope this wasn’t the last peaceful moment with only them and the open night sky.

**\--------------------**

At noon sharp, Lord Gold would officially become Regent Gold.

At a quarter to noon, Emma found her seat towards the back of the ceremonial hall. Aurora and Ella had helped spread the knowledge that her trip home had been delayed, and as Lady Emma Swan, she could bring Robin and Snow as her chaperones to the ceremony. Killian sat somewhere in the front of the hall. She had spotted him when she entered the hall, and as if they weren’t about to do something highly dangerous, he had simply winked at her.

David was waiting somewhere in the hallway, a hat on his head to minimise recognition for the time being. They had cut his hair and trimmed his stubble so he resembled the prince everyone knew and had once cheered for.

All around the ceremonial hall, Emma knew friends and allies were ready for the ceremony to start. Some were nobles, some were servants. Some were armed and armoured, such as Sir Lancelot, others had nothing but their voices. But they were all important. And outside on the streets of Misthaven, Ruby and her barmaids were rallying the people to shout for Prince David.

Everyone found their seats, and the hall grew silent. Emma fiddled with her skirts, a dagger strapped to her leg just underneath the cloth. The young Prince James, so innocent and oblivious, stepped down from a throne that was too big for him, joining the archbishop at the front of the ceremonial stage.

Emma hardly processed any of the words spoken, all of them meaningless to her. Only when Lord Gold was called forth did she sit up that bit straighter.

It was time.

The grand doors to the ceremonial hall burst open, everyone turning in their seats. And there, in the wide opening, on his own but looking anything but scared, was Prince David.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Whispers broke out immediately, guards rushing forth to seize him but soon finding their way blocked by David’s allies.

“You have no need for a regent,” David spoke out, his voice strong and loud enough to carry through all of the commotion. And yet he was still calm in his demeanour, his kindness present as always. “And certainly not one as Lord Gold would be. Ruthless, oppressive and careless of his people.”

Emma looked at Lord Gold, an ugly sneer upon his face. But he didn’t seem rattled, and it irked her.

“For too long, the people of the Enchanted Forest have lived without hope. They’ve lived without choice. They have faced lashes upon their backs and bereavements of the most gruesome kind, and my father, King George, only sought to further their pain in search of his own wealth. Lord Gold would do the same. But I tell you, all of you, the wealth of the monarch means nothing against the wealth and well-being of his people,” David strode through the aisle leading up to the ceremonial stage. They had planned for his allies to sit next to the aisle, to stand up as David passed them, and bow their heads in support, letting him pass freely. Emma did so proudly.

“Your lives, _our_ lives have been luxurious behind thick walls, but for seven years I have seen with my own eyes how greatly this kingdom has suffered. It is time for all of us to see it, to _change_ it. We must realize that noble or common, rich or poor, master or servant, we are _one_ kingdom. And we can be both noble and common in one home, but we must give the people a chance to be more than slaves. They must be given choices, control over their own lives. And it won’t put much of a dent in your wealth or luxury, I assure you. But it _will_ heal the kingdom.”

David reached the front of the hall. All around him, friends bowed in his direction and Emma surged with pride at the sight. Even people they had never spoken to rose and bowed.

But still, Lord Gold was not easily denied. “Such pretty words, dearie,” he smirked. “But your so-called father King George wished you exiled, and for me to help his true son rule the country. Standing here, you are nothing but an illegitimate mistake - a criminal without any rights.”

“King George never had any proof to his claims,” David said. “He was blinded by anger.”

Lord Gold all but cackled. “Oh, I’m sure our court physician Whale is of a different opinion.”

Again, people whispered and turned their heads, trying to spot Whale. Emma could not see him, but she heard his voice render the whispers silent.

“It is true, Lord Gold. I do have proof...” Whale paused, but Emma had heard something in his voice, something akin to doubt or even fear. “I have proof,” he said, louder this time, stronger, “that the exiled prince David of House Nolan, is in fact King George’s son.”

Hell broke loose at that. The nobles stood up and shouted, Emma could hardly understand what anyone was trying to say. She could hardly even recognize them, these usually calm and poised aristocrats, yelling like commoners in the streets. She was pushed by an outstretched arm, and her fingers itched to grip her dagger as the guards still loyal to Lord Gold tried to get the commotion under control.

At the front of the hall, Killian kept close to David. He faintly saw his father disappear in the crowd towards one of the side doors, but David’s safety meant more than whatever wrongs Lord Brennan had committed.

“Are you sure of this proof?” archbishop Jimmons asked Whale, clearly at a loss at what to do with the maddened crowd.

“Yes. And I am ashamed to admit that I have known the reasons for David’s exile to be false all of these years. I was threatened into silence by the very man beside you right now.”

Killian saw the murderous look Gold sent towards Whale. “I have no clue what you’re referring to, Doctor Whale.”

“I believe you do, Lord Gold. You and Lady Cora Mills. But I won’t bear the guilt any longer, and if you should take or ruin my life, I shall suffer it gladly. It is only fair I face the same end as Lord Captain Liam Jones.”

**\--------------------**

Killian stood frozen as the commotion got worse around him, several people wanting to speak their minds. His own mind echoed with his brother’s name.

“ _It is only fair I face the same end as Lord Captain Liam Jones.”_

What did Whale mean by that? Other people had died the past year, why did he mention Liam? There couldn’t be a connection between his brother’s death and Lord Gold and Prince David, the thought nearly gave Killian the urge to vomit.

“... when he came too close to discovering the truth, you had Lord Brennan Jones send him to his death.” With Killian’s head spinning the way it did, Whale’s accusation should be nothing but faint words in his ears, but he heard them loud and clear. “You and Lady Cora Mills. You poisoned King George into estranging his own son, and you blackmailed Lord Brennan Jones into murdering his.”

“And how on earth would a physician know such things, to make such laughable accusations?” Lord Gold sneered.

“Because it is true,” Lady Cora’s voice penetrated the crowd. People were starting to fall quiet as they realized what was going on at the front of the hall. They listened to Cora make her own accusations against Gold, how he blackmailed her as well. Even Lady Zelena stood up, claiming Gold had wanted Killian dead too, and had sent an assassin no more than a week ago.

But Killian hardly cared if what Zelena said was true. It mattered not that Gold had wanted him dead. No, everything paled against the fact that Liam’s death had been deliberate - and that his own father had taken part in it.

**\--------------------**

Emma’s heart sunk as she heard snippets of the truth of Liam’s death. So far back in the hall, she couldn’t hear everything, and more importantly, she couldn’t see Killian. She tried to push through the crowd, wanting so desperately to hold his hand and be by his side. But she was trapped, unable to move forth.

As the crowd’s yelling died down however, she was able to hear Whale, Cora, Zelena and Gold throwing accusations at each other. It seemed David didn’t even have to speak. They were tearing themselves down all on their own.

One thing seemed clear though. For seven years, and who knows how much longer, Lord Gold had been plotting to end up with the crown on his head. Emma suspected Cora had been more of a willing accomplice than a blackmailed one, but as long as the nobles recognized Lord Gold’s true colours and agreed to stand up to him, Emma was satisfied. With Whale’s proof, there could be no question about who should take the throne. And not just as a regent, but as the king David had been trained to be ever since he was born.

Finally, Emma spotted Killian. He’d somehow needled his way through the crowd, storming towards a side door. Emma’s stomach curled into a knot, fearful of what might be going on in his mind.

Something great and important was unravelling in the ceremonial hall, but Emma no longer cared as much as she did before. The commotion could survive without her.

She needed to find Killian.

**\--------------------**

He scarcely remembered how he got through the crowd. With his mind set on only one thing, Killian reached the door disguised in the panels. He cared not if someone saw or followed him. Shoving the door open, he went through to the narrow hall on the other side, looking left and right. Looking for his father.

Instead he found an eavesdropping servant. The man quickly pointed Killian in the right direction and with a curt thanks, Killian was already on his way down the hall.

The second he spotted the back of Lord Brennan Jones’ head, Killian lost the last string of control he’d been clinging to.

He yelled, the words leaving his mouth without thought. No sooner did Brennan turn his head before Killian had him pushed against the brick wall, the top of his father’s shirt twisted tightly in his fist.

“You knew! You _knew_ the plant was poisonous!”

“Killian, I -”

“No!” Killian yelled, not wanting to hear any more words leave his father’s mouth. No more lies, no more excuses. “You knew they wanted Liam dead and you let him go anyways. Your own son! You sent your own son to his death!”

The guilt etched in every crease of Brennan’s face wasn’t enough for Killian. It only furthered his anger. For how the hell could he willingly have let Liam die if not because he’d lost any ability to feel at all?

“Lord Gold -” Brennan tried again, but Killian wouldn’t have it. His grip on the shirt tightened, slamming him against the bricks once more. Brennan didn’t even tried to fight it. He was limp in Killian’s hands. “Lord Gold blackmailed me,” he said, his voice no more than a strangled whisper.

“And what could possibly be more important to you than Liam’s life?”

Brennan closed his eyes, opening them again with shame. “I lost everything, Killian. All our gold, all our jewels. Everything... the more I tried to win back, the more I lost again - Lord Gold was the only one who could help us. If not for him-”

“You had Liam murdered because of money?” Killian asked, barely even to form the question, the very idea bringing tears to his eyes. “You gambled everything away, and Liam’s life wasn’t the worst thing you could lose? If not for the bloody crocodile we’d be poor, but at least Liam would be _alive_!”

His fist hit Brennan’s nose, the sickening _crack_ and the pain of his knuckles meaningless to the rage inside of him. He could do it again, _would_ do it again. His father didn’t deserve his miserable life, not when Liam...

“Killian!”

At the beginning of the hallway, frozen mid-step, was Emma. Light from a small window fell perfectly around her, tendrils of hair framing her face. Her eyes were wide open with fear, but she was so _beautiful_. Killian’s rage left like clouds after a dark storm, leaving him staring at Emma with tears in his eyes and blood on his knuckles.

“He let Liam die.” It hurt to speak, his voice sounding as if it was torn from his throat. “He-” but the rest of his sentence was swallowed by tears as Emma stepped closer.

“I know, Killian. I know.” From afar, Killian had seen disgust in her face, for how could there not be? But she came closer with nothing but understanding, nothing but kindness. He was not a wild animal to her, and he wasn’t a shameful, broken man, however much he felt like one.

The left grip on his father’s shirt was still tight. Emma didn’t tell him to let go, nor did she berate him for losing his temper. But looking at her - simply having her near - made Killian want to forget his father altogether. In that moment, as light danced across her face, Killian wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and thank her for letting him into her life.

“Killian!” Once again, his name was shouted out, this time by his three oldest friends. Emma looked over her shoulder to see Phillip, Thomas and Eric behind her. A silent agreement passed between them. Killian was only fully aware of it when the fabric slipped between his fingers, Phillip and Eric taking hold of Brennan.

And then she was there. Her arms around him, her head soft against his shoulder. Killian was almost afraid to hold her, afraid she’d slip away if he did. But he could feel her breathing against him, hear her whisper soft words against his skin. Blood from his knuckles was getting on her dress, he knew, and his tears would dampen her delicate up-do, but as her fingers caressed the nape of his neck, Killian _needed_ to feel her closer. So he let his arms tighten around her, his eyes closing against her hair.

Emma kept him just as close, closing her own eyes as Killian lost himself in the pain of losing Liam all over again. Only this time, with Emma against him, he knew he wouldn’t be lost for long.

**\--------------------**

She cared not if they had been there for minutes or hours. Seeing Killian so broken-hearted had nearly brought her to tears as well, but she kept strong for him. Emma wasn’t unused to being strong for others - she had kept strong for the other kids on the streets all of her life. But comforting someone her own age, someone she _knew_ and cared for... it was entirely unfamiliar. But she would stay still with Killian for as long as he needed it, and cherish the feel of him so close against her for as long as he allowed it.

The world outside couldn’t allow it for too long, however. Or rather, the world they had left behind in the ceremonial hall, the moments that would truly shape the future.

When Killian and Emma finally returned to the hall, it was hand in hand, ready to face whatever they might find.

The crowd was much as they had left it: loud and uneasy. Numerous secrets had been unveiled. Plots, blackmails and threats had been shared with everyone. The truth was finally out.

David was indeed King George’s son. Whale had proof, and any noble who had known David as a kid could see the clear resemblance in Prince James. And had it not been for Cora and Gold, David would never have been exiled. The two had long wanted House Nolan off the throne, and turning the King against his only son and heir had been the first step.

It had been inevitable that George would remarry, but Whale had discovered remnants of poison in Queen Meredith’s corpse. She had never had a chance at surviving childbirth. However, against Cora and Gold’s plans, Prince James had survived.

Whale had been kept quiet with threats against his own life and his late brother’s. But David’s exile had never sat well with Liam Jones, and when he had started to do some digging, Cora and Gold had gotten him removed. Killian’s death would have been welcome as well. They had never known how much Liam might have told his brother, and now, after George’s death - caused by droplets of dreamshade - Killian’s death would have added to the panic amongst the nobles.

However, Gold hadn’t realized that letting Zelena down one too many times would cause her to tell Emma about the assassination. The alliance between Gold and House Mills had been shattered when Cora wanted to be more than Gold’s accomplice. And the break in their alliance had been cemented by Cora’s attempt to have Regina marry the king.

Emma’s head spun with all of the revelations, but even when she wasn’t holding Killian’s hand, he was right next to her. She almost didn’t care about all that had led them to meet. As they stood together in the ceremonial hall, she was simply grateful that they were both okay - and that David was to take his rightful place, as the King of the Enchanted Forest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo, hopefully everything makes sense. Tying things together is always tricky, but I hope you liked it! Just an epilogue to go now - I'm a bit sad to see it all coming to an end...


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end! Of course, this being a csbb fic, I finished writing about three months ago, but it's quite sad to end it for good now. I'll be going more into the thank you's and all that at the end note, for now, I just want you to get reading and, hopefully, enjoy the last chapter of this story!

Banners and flags brought Misthaven to life on a chilly, yet cloudless early summer morning. The town, usually so full of greys and beige was awash with colour and merriments in the streets, something only a few festivals had achieved during the last decades - and only around the noble district at that. Then, the festivities had always seemed like a faraway dream to Emma. The crowded streets, however, had made pickpocketing a fair bit easier.

Now, if only for a few days, everyone had the chance to celebrate as a new king was crowned, with promises of a better future. Perhaps not a future where every day could be as joyful as a festival, but King David had plans to ensure security and well-being amongst his people. A solid roof or a stable job could provide as much joy as any festival, Emma knew.

David’s coronation took place three days after Lord Gold and Lady Cora had been exposed. Both had been stripped of their titles and imprisoned for their crimes. Lord Brennan Jones was also stripped of his title, however, he’d been given a shorter sentence. He would not have it though. He desired a harsher penance, unable to bear the hand he had played in Liam’s death now that everyone knew the truth. So he, too, had been imprisoned for life.

Killian was faced with the sudden responsibility of dukedom - and with empty coffers at that. He meant to sell whatever he could and regain the trust of the navy and the seafaring merchants. As a token of gratitude, David offered House Jones a handsome amount of gold from the royal coffers. Killian refused - initially, that is. David managed to convince him that it was only a small amount, intended to help House Jones regain its stability, for the end of the Great House would benefit no one.

Emma, too, had been given a grand offer: chambers at the palace for as long as she pleased. David and Snow wished to maintain the friendship they had built throughout the months, as they had become more of a family than friends. Emma hardly knew what to do with herself when they made the offer. And she hardy knew which was more unbelievable - that she had a chance to live in the royal palace, or that she had found a family of her own.

It was too much for her though. Living in a townhouse had seemed unreal, how on earth could she ever accustom herself to living in the royal palace? In truth, Emma wasn’t at all sure what to do with herself. She cared immensely for David and Snow, not to mention Killian. But she didn’t belong in their world, did she? It had all been a game of pretend.

“Something’s on your mind,” Killian said, gently enquiring about her silence. Emma kept her eyes on the waves, the blanket Killian had brought shielding her from the cold of the rocks they sat upon, and a knit cap Snow had gifted her shielding her ears from the breeze.

“There’s usually something on everyone’s minds,” she couldn’t help but answer.

It had been Emma’s idea to go for a walk - Killian’s idea to venture out to the embankment at the harbour. She realized it was his plan all along when he pulled the blanket from his satchel and laid it on the rocks.

“Aye, but whatever this particular something is, it seems to be vexing you rather greatly,” Killian said. Emma met his look with a teasing one of her own.

“Not as much as suddenly becoming Duke, I imagine.”

“Suddenly becoming a noblewoman could be just as vexing.”

Emma looked back at the water just a few metres away from her feet. “I’m not a noblewoman.”

Killian didn’t contradict her. Instead, he placed a kiss on the top her head, barely noticeable through the knit cap. “No - you’re far more than that, aren’t you?”

Emma let herself lean towards him, for truly, she was helpless to stop herself from doing so. She laid her head on his shoulder, and his arm curled around her as natural as anything.

“I can’t live in the royal palace, Killian,” she said, finally speaking the words out loud. David and Snow had merely told her to think on it, but she dreaded telling them her answer. “I can’t spend my days embroidering or whatever, and my nights dancing and drinking at balls.”

“After all you’ve experienced, I doubt you’d find such a life agreeable.”

Emma bit her bottom lip before speaking. “I’m not really sure what I’d find agreeable anymore.”

“You know, love, we’ll all support you no matter what you choose to do,” Killian said. “I’ll admit, I’m rather selfish in hoping you’ll choose to keep gifting me with your company.” He pulled her a bit closer, drawing a small laugh from her.

“I’d like that too,” she said, daring to look up at him. But of course, there could be nothing dangerous about admitting such a thing to Killian, for he only looked back at her with a feeling she wasn’t quite ready to name.

“Well then, my balcony is always open - but so is the front door, if you prefer.” Again, he drew a smile from her, and in turn, she drew his head closer to her own, catching his lips in a kiss.

“Furthermore,” Killian continued after they pulled apart, “David may have spent the last seven years as a commoner in the Enchanted Forest, but I’m sure he could use an ambassador from the streets of Misthaven,” he finished with a lift of his eyebrow.

“Ambassador...” Emma repeated quietly, the sound of the title not unpleasant.

“I’m rather clever, I know,” Killian said smugly, earning himself a slap on his chest.

They went on to discuss other things - things on Killian’s mind or simple stories with no real matter and yet the simple fact that they were gladly shared made them more important to Emma than most conversations she’d ever had.

There was no way she could ever give up having Killian in her life. No way at all.

\---

A week after his coronation, David hosted a grand ball at the royal palace, partly to celebrate the crown on his head and partly to introduce the fiancée on his hand. If the nobles were shocked to learn Snow had been a maid, they quickly forgot it once they witnessed her beauty and unfailing kindness.

Emma wore a red dress for the evening, the cut more befitting a woman than any of the dresses she’d worn before. The damage on her spleen still worried her after all these months, but she had to admit, giving up ballgowns altogether didn’t sound entirely enjoyable.

Besides, Killian speechless with an open mouth wasn’t a sight she was likely to tire of.

(“You look...” he trailed off and Emma smiled.

“I know.”)

Emma had only been in the palace ballroom once before, after the tournament in honour of Prince James’ fifth birthday. It had been a pleasant evening, though she’d been rather cross with herself when she came home - angry that she couldn’t let go of her crush on Killian. Fearful that it might ruin David’s plans.

Emma could only smile at her former worries now. A glass of wine was in her hands as she stood with Killian, Robin, Will and Belle. The three gentlemen had formed an unexpected friendship, and Emma thought Belle a very sweet and pleasant conversationalist.

On the dance floor, David and Snow shared a waltz - their second of the evening, Emma believed. They hadn’t had much time for dancing what with all of the nobles to greet and relationships to establish. Emma had not danced at all, she realized. In fact -

“You know, Killian, that throughout all of these months, we somehow managed to never share a dance?”

Killian raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a proposition, my love?”

“Yes,” she smiled, completely unapologetic. Killian only ever admired her strength to never apologize for who she was.

As they waited for the current dance to end, Aurora, Ella, Phillip and Thomas joined their little group. Although not engaged (yet), Ella and Thomas had announced their courtship a few days ago, to no one’s surprise.

Aurora wasn’t wrong when she said she sensed many weddings on the horizon. Her own, of course and Snow and David’s. Killian and Emma ducked away from that conversation with matching pink ears. They were content to just be them for a little while. Emma would like to try her hand at being an ambassador before becoming a duchess as well.

(The mere thought of being a duchess - _Killian’s wife_ \- made Emma dizzy. No, best not to think of such things. Yet.)

Killian led Emma to the dance floor as the song was about to change. Across the floor, Emma noticed Eric with a somewhat familiar redhead.

“I believe she helped out at your friend Ruby’s tavern for a little while,” Killian supplied.

“That’s right - Ariel! Well, they make an interesting match,” Emma said, to which Killian smirked.

“Oh, he’s absolutely smitten.”

Ruby was somewhere in the ballroom as well. Emma had last seen her chatting with a noblewoman who didn’t normally reside in Misthaven, choosing instead to travel the lands with her sword - Lady Mulan, if Emma recalled correctly.

As for the lady who had once been described to Emma as a queen in anything but title, last Emma had heard of Lady Regina Mills, she’d gone to live at her family estate. It seemed the oldest Mills sister actually preferred life there amongst her horses to life at court.

The music stopped and some couples left the floor while others stayed for another dance. Emma turned to Killian, ready for them to enter the floor. But in the few seconds she had been looking elsewhere, Killian had procured something very familiar - a book.

“Seriously?” Emma only asked. She could see a quiver in Killian’s lip which soon turned into laughter.

“Sorry, love,” he winked at her. “Couldn’t resist a hint of old times.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him. “When did you even get that book? I didn’t see you carrying any earlier.”

“With a little help from my good friend Robin.”

It was Emma’s turn to raise an eyebrow, but Killian promptly closed the book and found room for it in the pocket of his coat. He held out his hand and said, “shall we?”

They made it onto the floor just as the music started. It was another waltz, and Killian had Emma in his arms in no time at all, leading her through the steps effortlessly.

“I’ll admit,” Emma said after a few steps, “I thought you might truly be incompetent with all of your reluctance to dance.”

Killian spun her around, entirely in control of every little movement. “Believe me, love, I know exactly what I’m doing.” He pulled her in close. “And you appear to be a natural.”

Emma only smiled, performing her steps with more pleasure than she ever had before. And when Killian admitted he’d never enjoyed dancing as much as he did now, Emma could only whole-heartedly agree.

It was no surprise to either of them that they stayed on the dance floor for another song.

The rest of the evening was spent in merriment as more wine was poured and more dances were enjoyed. Emma spent most of her time with her friends, a lingering smile always on her lips. She looked around at all the grandeur, all these familiar and friendly people, scarcely able to believe it to be real. As Killian spoke to Robin, she studied him from the side, strings tugging at her heart. Everything felt like the best possible dream, and if it really were a dream and she was lying somewhere in a cold nook, alone and bruised, she never wanted to wake up.

Because in truth, Emma loved these balls. And she would love to learn how to actually paint and have real sparring sessions with David. Play cards with Aurora and Ella. Dance with Killian or listen to him read... but she couldn’t bear to forget what the world looked like beyond the walls of the noble district. She couldn’t bear to forget the orphans less fortunate than herself. And so she would ever be grateful for Killian’s suggestion of becoming an ambassador, and David’s absolute enthusiasm at the idea.

It just seemed so unreal, that this could be her life. But Emma knew now, that  while she would always be orphan, she need not keep herself in solitude forever.

“Everything alright there, love?” Killian asked, having come to stand beside her.

Emma beamed at him, relishing the opportunity to simply stretch up and kiss his cheek. “Yes. I daresay everything’s more than alright.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist a tooth-achingly sweet ending, I'm afraid :)
> 
> I've had a lot of fun writing this story, but also quite a lot of trouble. I tried starting it a year ago, after finishing my csbb 2017 fic, but it just wouldn't work. Then, my wonderful beta @forget-me-not-s convinced me to sign up for csbb again, and I'm so very glad I did! While writing it, I was doing final exams and moving to Australia, and well, you can say I was quite stressed at times and close to giving up. But again, I'm so very happy I kept going, and I hope you've all appreciated it as well! I'm certainly blown away by the nicest possible comments some of you have given, and every kind word and kudos has made me smile, so THANK YOU! And even if you've just been reading, well, I want to thank you too! I'm glad you enjoyed it enough to read it to the end.
> 
> Lastly, I'd like to thank my amazing artist @captxinswans for her awesome picture-sets, as well as the csbb mods for making this happen! And now that I'm done rambling, I strongly recommend reading the other csbb fics - there really is so much talent in our wonderful fandom!


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